Shadows Rising
by Aedemiel
Summary: The shadows that we cast change with the angle of the light. Dean Winchester is a master of denial and repression. Sam Winchester nurses a secret sorrow. A new threat is rising, but will the Winchester's figure out what's happening in time? Part One of The Shadows We Cast
1. Prologue

Sam stepped through the doorway and started when he found himself in a luxuriously appointed bedroom, like you might find in the honeymoon suite of a high-class hotel. The bed linens were simple but expensive, the carpet was so thick Sam was sure he'd slept on thinner mattresses and all the furnishings were classy and well made. He sat down on the bed bouncing up and down to test the springiness of the mattress. Very nice. But what the Hell was he doing here? Clearly, they'd failed to kill the Trickster yet again, but Sam couldn't figure out which TV show he was meant to be trapped in now.

"Let's just call it my own _private_ collection," a voice said. Sam looked up in alarm. The Trickster was lounging against the dresser, his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Hey, Sam." He was dressed differently, in a white button-down shirt open at the throat and and a pair of well-tailored black slacks. His feet were bare. Sam wasn't sure why that seemed to catch his attention.

"Where's Dean?" Sam demanded, standing up indignantly.

"Oh, I thought you might not want him here for this _particular_ show," the Trickster drawled. "Don't worry, he's safe. He won't even notice you're gone." He stalked towards Sam and the hunter drew back in apprehension, stopping only when his calves hit the bed. The demigod raked him up and down with an appreciative look and Sam suddenly had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

"I don't know what you're planning, but I'm not playing along. Not this time. We get the message, OK. Now let us go." Sam told him, cursing internally at the quiver in his voice. The Trickster smiled a slow, wicked smile that gave Sam a curious sensation in his chest.

"Now, Sam. Are you really going to just leave, when I've gone to all this trouble?" he asked, his voice low and sultry. Sam struggled to control his breathing, the Trickster was very close to him now and he could feel the heat radiating off his body. The demigod leaned forward a little and Sam instinctively rocked back, but he was already pressed against the foot of the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress. The Trickster grinned in triumph and Sam scrambled up the bed, watching warily as the demigod crawled towards him. To his surprise, the Trickster didn't pounce on him, but pulled himself up alongside Sam and propped up his head on one hand.

"What do you want?" Sam asked desperately, afraid he already knew the answer. The Trickster gave him that sultry smile again.

"Oh, I think you know, Sam," he said breathily. He pulled himself closer to Sam so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other. The demigod's face was only inches away and Sam could smell cinnamon and burnt sugar.

"I think you've got the wrong idea about me." Sam told him, perturbed. "I don't go for guys."

"Sure you don't. Except when you do. You _do_ remember your college days before you met Jessica, don't you?" the Trickster laughed. Sam flushed, he hadn't expected the demigod to know about his experimental phase.

"That was then. I was young, trying all kinds of new experiences. It doesn't mean anything."

"Relax, Sam," the Trickster said lazily. "This doesn't mean anything either, not if you don't want it to. Just call it blowing off some steam, that's all. You and your knuckle-headed brother haven't had much of a break recently." He edged forward and Sam swallowed.

"I-, I can't do this. What about Dean?" he stammered. The Trickster's eyebrows rose.

"You wanna invite him to this party?" he asked in mock surprise. "I can't say I'm keen." Sam cursed under his breath.

"I mean, he'll be worried, wondering where I am." Sam said lamely. The demigod sighed.

"Have you forgotten who I am? I told you, Dean won't even notice you're gone. I swear, nobody will ever know about this. Just you and me."

"Yeah? Until you decide to use it against me somehow?" Sam accused. The Trickster snarled and thrust his hand into Sam's hair, jerking him closer.

"I swear. No-one will ever know because of something I did or said. Ever." He tilted his head and his nose brushed Sam's cheek. Sam expected him to make a move, but he just waited there, his breath ghosting across Sam's face. Sam took a moment to really look at the demigod, his golden gaze making him feel tense and shivery. He didn't want to admit to himself how attractive the Trickster was, how even now he was thinking about how his skin would taste and how hot the demigod's mouth would be under his. His breathing stuttered and the Trickster's eyes were riveted on his, the pupils blown wide. Like a dam breaking Sam lunged forward suddenly, crashing their mouths together in a savage dance of lips, teeth and tongue. The demigod groaned under the onslaught and it was the hottest thing Sam had ever heard. He rolled over the Trickster and pressed his long body against the shorter length of the demigod. Sam dragged his mouth away and down the Trickster's neck nipping and licking at the skin in a way that made the demigod writhe and pant. He slid his fingers into the shirt, popping the buttons one by one and spreading it wide then applying himself to each nipple in turn. The Trickster made a gesture and the shirt disappeared. Along with Sam's. He didn't care. The demigod's hands were in his hair and Sam licked a wet trail across his stomach, pausing only to unbutton the Trickster's slacks and tug at them ineffectively. The Trickster pulled at his hair and Sam looked up, shivering at the searing look on his face. Another gesture vanished all their remaining clothing and Sam took a moment to appreciate the view. The Trickster was hard and wanting and Sam's hands flexed as he fought for control. Then the demigod flipped them over and straddled Sam's hips, pinning the hunter's hands above his head. _Oh, God._ The feeling of their skin pressed together like this was driving him insane. The demigod moved against him and Sam thought he might die from the overwhelming sensations of friction and need. He clamped his hands at the Trickster's hips and growled incoherently at him, he was rewarded with another wicked smile and the Trickster shifted position so that Sam was now poised at his entrance. Sam slammed his hips upwards, and the Trickster's head went back as he gasped at the sudden feeling of Sam inside him. He held there for a moment and then began to move. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head, it was all too much. Too tight, too hot, too sweet and incredible and _God damn._ Rational thought was impossible, all he could do was feel and be carried along for the ride. He felt the rising tide of need that signalled how close he was and he gasped aloud.

"Oh, _God…_ " he managed and then he was lost, spiralling into a dizzying climax that stole his breath and his mind. The Trickster shuddered and moaned and then he too was tumbling over the edge with him.

Sam wasn't sure how long he lay there, unable to do anything but drift blissfully, the Trickster collapsed across his body and his face nuzzled into Sam's neck. Sam could feel the hot puffs of the demigod's breath against his skin. He felt incredible, warm and lazy and sated. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good, the last time sex had made him feel this good. He didn't want it to end. The Trickster raised his head, grinning sleepily at him. Sam swallowed, the demigod looked adorable, his face creased from where he'd been lying on Sam's chest. Sam had the sudden feeling that he could be in real trouble here. The Trickster had told him it didn't have to mean anything, just a little stress relief. But lying here in a post-coital haze, Sam found himself wondering if that's all it could be. The demigod's face took on a sorrowful cast.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I really wish it could be otherwise. But this is the only time we can do this." He stroked his fingers across Sam's cheek. "Hard times are ahead. Hard choices too. We all have to do what we have to do." With that, he rolled off Sam and with a click they were both dressed again. The Trickster reached out and touched Sam's cheek again, and then pressed a soft, warm kiss against his lips. Then he was gone, and Sam was alone. He stared at the room for a moment and then headed for the door.

The Impala roared along the badly lit country road, Sam tensed and silent in the passenger seat, Kali angry and twitchy in the back. They'd driven through the night, nobody saying a word. Finally, the first glimmerings of sunrise began to steal across the horizon and Kali leaned forward.

"Stop here." Dean flicked a quick look at her over his shoulder.

"Here? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"I said stop the car," she snarled. Dean sighed and pulled over. She shoved the door open savagely. "Thank you for the...assistance," she bit out. Then she got out of the car and strode away down the road. Dean looked at Sam, who was curled almost into a ball in his seat, staring out of the window.

"Hey, man. You uh, OK?" he asked. Sam didn't reply. Dean left him to it, his brother had a lot on his mind after all.

Sam stared unseeing out of the car window. He didn't even notice when Dean stopped to let Kali out, he realized sometime later she was no longer in the Impala with them. He didn't care. There was an ache in his chest, a terrible hollow feeling like something inside him had died. His mind stuttered on that thought. Gabriel. Gabriel was dead. He knew it. He'd known he was walking to his death, and yet he'd done it to save them. _To save you._ No. He scrunched his eyes up tightly, trying desperately to remain in control. The tidal wave of grief that had washed over him, as he had viscerally felt Gabriel die had been almost unbearable. He was gone, his beautiful, glorious archangel. _Not yours. Not really._ _Except he was._

Dean eyed his brother nervously. Sam was heartbroken. He could see it. Gabriel's death meant that much to Sam? He didn't even know his brother liked the douchebag. And yet, Dean hadn't seen Sam grieve like this since Jess died. _Jess_. But he'd been in love with Jess. None of this made any sense.


	2. Chapter One

Dean was very, very drunk. Sam was used to his brother's functional alcoholism, but this was impressive even for him. He lounged in the library chair, looking like he might slide off at any moment. Cas was watching him with a singular intensity, seemingly poised to intervene if Dean were to lose his battle with gravity.

"Maybe you should call it a night," Sam suggested acidly. Dean grinned sloppily at him.

"Nah, I'm good." He leaned over to address the angel, "I'm good, ain't I, Cas?" But he'd inclined too far and started to slither out of the chair. Cas jumped up and caught him before he hit the floor.

"I believe Sam is correct," Cas said wryly. "You should consider sleeping this off." Dean tilted his head back and regarded the angel with a slight smile.

"Then take me to bed, Cas," Dean declared expansively. Cas ignored the choked off laugh behind him. Sam Winchester's sense of humor was getting the better of him again. He considered the situation for a moment and then picked Dean up, slinging him unceremoniously over his shoulder like a firefighter.

"Hey!" Dean complained. Cas ignored him.

"G'night, Cas," Sam said slyly. The angel harrumphed in irritation and strode out of the room.

* * *

By the time he got to Dean's room, the hunter was only semi-conscious. He laid him out on the bed and set to removing his boots. Dean twitched and muttered, making it more difficult than it needed to be. He could have used his Grace, but somehow that felt like cheating. He didn't want to explore that feeling.

Once he'd removed Dean's footwear, he considered the problem of his clothing. Removing the button-down shirt was easy enough, even if Dean was insistent on struggling with him. The t-shirt presented a slight challenge, solved by sitting the older Winchester upright and leaning his head against one shoulder. Dean nuzzled into his neck, seemingly on some kind of instinct, his warm breath huffing against Cas' skin. The angel suppressed a shiver at the sensation, berating himself for the impropriety. He pulled the t-shirt up, tugged each arm through the sleeves one by one and then leaned Dean back to jerk it over his head. He laid the hunter down on the bed again, and carefully folded the shirt and t-shirt, placing them on a nearby chair. He sat again next to Dean and contemplated his jeans. After a moment's hesitation, he decided that there was no help for it, and with a grim set to his jaw, unbuttoned and unzipped them quickly and deftly. He dragged the denim over Dean's hips, trying not to notice as the muscles in his thighs tensed and bunched in response. Once he'd worked the material down past Dean's butt, the job was considerably easier, swiftly wrenching the jeans down his legs. He folded them as carefully as the other clothing and placed them on top of the shirt. He eyed Dean's boxer shorts, not having any idea if the hunter typically slept naked… He shook himself. Dean would be comfortable now, once he drew the sheet over him and let him sleep. He spotted a large water glass by the bed, and snagged it before heading off to the kitchen.

He filled the glass with water from the filter jug in the fridge and grabbed the bottle of aspirin sitting by the coffee machine. Returning to Dean's room, he placed the water and painkillers on the nightstand and watched the hunter sleep for a few moments, a small indulgence. Why he insisted on poisoning himself like this, Cas could not understand. Oh, he understood the occasional urge to drink oneself into oblivion, when everything got too much. Been there, done that, as the humans liked to say. But nothing he and Sam had been up to this week had been so earth-shattering as to require this response. Sure, the haunted costumes had sounded rather creepy, but Sam was the one with the clown phobia. Cas sighed and silently left the room.

* * *

Sam bit his tongue watching Cas carry Dean out of the room like an avenging angel, before letting himself laugh out loud. OK, Dean's drunkenness had been irritating him too, but the demand that Cas take him to bed was just too funny. It happened every time Dean crossed some invisible line from regular drunkenness to full-on inebriation, he'd make some ridiculous come-on to Cas, who would studiously ignore any double entendres and simply help his brother into bed in an entirely chaste and innocent manner. Sam was sure Cas was perfectly aware of what Dean was implying. _One day, Cas would take him up on the offer for real,_ Sam thought. He frowned. _No, on second thoughts, he never would._ Sam considered that rather a shame. When the angel reappeared, his face drawn and sad, Sam felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Dean OK?" he asked. Cas turned heavy eyes on him.

"Did something happen in Minnesota? I would understand if you had felt it necessary to drink yourself into a stupor, given your phobia." Cas said, his eyes focused intently on Sam in a way that made him squirm.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Sam said carefully. He thought about it as Cas sat down.

"Why did Dean feel it necessary to drink so much this evening?" Cas fretted.

"Whatever the reason, I don't think it has anything to do with our last case. Maybe he's just anxious because Amara's gone off the radar. But between you and me, I think Crowley's willingness to kill him last week has more to do with it. You know, when Dean had his short stint as a demon, him and Crowley were pretty tight. And Crowley seemed to have some affection for Dean even before then. We haven't really considered Crowley a serious threat for some time, which is insane when you think about it." Cas looked embarrassed and Sam winced. The angel had his own less than salubrious history with the self-styled king of Hell. "So I think that was a shock. You know Dean, why process and deal with an emotion when you can just repress it and maybe drown it in booze." Sam gave a long-suffering smile and but Cas did not return it.

* * *

The next morning, Sam was unsurprised to see Dean in the kitchen armed with coffee and a scowl that could decapitate a man at forty paces. He beamed at his brother as brightly as he could.

"Good morning, Dean!" he said loudly, and grinned as Dean winced.

"Shh. There's no need to shout," Dean mumbled. He shuffled like an old man in his robe and slippers over to the table and stared moodily into his mug. Cas entered the kitchen clutching a paper bag which he deposited on the table with a diffident gesture.

"Perhaps you should try eating something," the angel suggested. Dean peeked inside the bag, his expression brightening a little and pulling out a cinnamon roll. Sam rolled his eyes, Cas was spoiling his brother again. But he wasn't so irritated he didn't help himself to one of the sweet, sticky confections. Cas watched as Dean picked his roll apart and placed each piece in his mouth, eyes closed and expression rapt. In fact the whole performance, Dean's over-the-top enjoyment and the angel's barely concealed interest in it, was a little embarrassing. It didn't matter that Sam had watched this whole ludicrous dance before. He found it excruciating every single time.

He opened his laptop and logged into his email. There were two messages waiting for him. One was from Donna, thanking him and Dean for their help. He smiled, he liked Donna and her earnestness was a refreshing change from Dean's wall-to-wall cynicism and Cas' stoicism. He clicked reply and tapped out a short message telling her they were glad to help and wishing her happy holidays. The second message was from Garth, just updating Sam on his life with the pack.

He closed his laptop and finished his coffee. Dean was looking a little green around the gills. He sighed and looked significantly at Cas.

"Dean, will you let me help you?" Cas asked. Dean squinted at him and shook his head.

"I appreciate that but I did this to myself, Cas. I have to suck it up," he told the angel. He gagged and Sam pushed back in his chair.

"If you're not going to let Cas detox you, maybe you should-" Sam didn't get to finish his thought as Dean suddenly shot upright and dashed out of the room, one hand over his mouth. Cas cast one final look at Sam before jumping up and following Sam's brother out of the kitchen.

* * *

Dean leaned over the toilet, pale and sweating. Cas hovered uncertainly in the doorway for a moment before entering and sinking down beside him.

"Dean," the angel rumbled. "You're being ridiculous. I can make all of this go away. Please, let me help you." Dean stubbornly shook his head.

"No, man. I said no and I meant it. I have to...I have to do this. It's the rule." Cas frowned at him, _what rule?_

"I don't know what rule you are talking about," he told the hunter. "But it doesn't seem like a very good rule if it means you have to suffer unnecessarily." Cas grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wet it under the faucet. He wrung the excess water out and applied the cool damp cloth to Dean's forehead, then wiped it across his face. Dean closed his eyes in relief at the sensation, quivering slightly.

"It's my rule," Dean said softly. "It's supposed to stop me from...doing certain things. Like aversion therapy or some crap like that."  
"Does it work?" Cas asked, baffled.

"Not really." Dean sighed. "But it's all I got." He dragged himself upright and stood there, swaying slightly. Cas stood up with him and pulled Dean's arm across his shoulders.

"If you won't let me heal you, at least let me help you back to bed. You're in no condition to be doing anything else right now," Cas said sternly. Dean let the angel lead him back to his room and help him get back into bed.

When he left and closed Dean's door quietly behind him, Sam was waiting for him in the hall, holding a bottle of orange flavored sports drink. He handed it to Cas with a wry smile.

"Give him this, it will hydrate him better than just water." Cas took the bottle from him and gave him a grateful look. Sam shrugged. "I love him too, and I hate seeing him do this to himself." Cas started and Sam gave him a searching look.

"You OK, Cas? You've seen Dean like this before. He'll be fine, he just needs to work it out of his system." Cas looked down and turned to open Dean's door again. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Sam", he said simply.


	3. Chapter Two

Sam dropped into one of the library chairs and opened his laptop. Dean would be better off distracted with monster hunts than just being allowed to wallow. He checked a few news feeds and alerts that he'd set up and started to read. He sensed more than heard Cas enter the room.

"How's Dean doing?" he asked. Cas looked unhappy.

"He's sleeping for now. I wish he would let me help him." he said miserably. Sam gave him a sympathetic smile as the angel flopped gracelessly into a chair.

"I found a case for you," he said suddenly. He looked tense and Sam blinked in surprise.

"OK," he said cautiously. "What's the deal?" The angel reached out and Sam let him drag the laptop across the table. He tapped at it for a few moments then pushed it back over to Sam. The young Winchester looked at the website the angel had pulled up and started to read, trying to ignore the way Cas fidgeted opposite him. Sam gave the angel a searching look.

"It sounds like it might be worth checking out. You seem very...disturbed by it." Cas looked away.

"It...reminds me of something," he said unhelpfully. "An old memory. Do not concern yourself about it." Sam pulled a face.

"I don't like being left in the dark, Cas," he told the angel irritably. Cas stood up.

"It's not important," he insisted and strode out of the room, effectively shutting down the conversation. Cas had learned some very bad habits from Dean, Sam thought. He turned his attention back to his computer.

After an hour or so, he was distracted by a shuffling sound. He looked up to see Dean, freshly showered and dressed and looking marginally more human than he had earlier.

"Hey!" Sam said with a smile. "You look better." Dean gave him a pained grin.

"Is Cas around?" he asked. Sam shook his head.

"He was here earlier. I don't know where he went." Sam peered at his brother. "You up to talking about a possible case?" Dean actually brightened at that.

"A case? Yeah, sure."

"OK, so get this," Sam replied. "A few weeks ago, in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, a local pastor at a church is accused of some pretty inappropriate behavior with several young women in the choir. Well, that happens, people are people after all. After that, a lifelong vegan by the name of Terry Wood attends the local county fair and goes hog-wild at the BBQ - I mean he eats so much meat he actually kills himself." Dean grimaced.

"Dude's a vegan, then goes and eats all the pig he can shove down his gullet? Wow. Is this like when we ran into Famine?" Sam thought his brother looked a little nauseous.

"I thought so too at first, but then I came across another case, a guy called Mike Waters. Mike was a hippy back in the day. Still very much a peace and love kinda guy, definitely not the kind of person you'd think would go nuts and spray his local supermarket with bullets. He killed four people and injured over a dozen more before an off-duty policeman was able to take him out. According to the blotter, Waters never owned a gun before. He apparently went out, bought a small arsenal and decided to attack the grocery store." Sam leaned back, raking one hand through his hair. "I don't know if it is our sort of thing, but Cas thought it might be worth checking out."

"Cas?" Dean said, surprised. "Why did it catch his attention?" Sam shook his head.

"No idea, he seemed real agitated about it though."

"What's your theory? Witches?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm thinking witch, maybe. Some kind of spell that makes people behave out of character. Or it could be a cursed object." Sam told him. Dean scratched at his stubble, thinking.

"Yeah, that works. OK, I'll tell Cas we're heading out." He dragged himself up from the table.

"He could come with, if you want," Sam said. "He did find the case after all. And it would get him out of the bunker for a bit." Dean shook his head emphatically and Sam frowned.

"Nah, he's good. Working on some translation of an book he got off eBay." Dean explained. That seemed kind of weak to Sam but he wasn't going to push it.

"OK, well give me an hour to wrap up a couple things and then we'll hit the road."

* * *

In the car, Dean cranked the radio up to eleven, and began to sing along, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Sam regarded him carefully, his brother was hard to read but there were a number of tells that Sam had identified over the years and this was one of them. Something had disturbed Dean's orbit and Sam wondered what it could have been. He cast his mind back over the last few weeks. He'd been serious when he'd suggested to Cas that the problem could be related to Crowley, but if that was what was eating at his brother, then it suggested that he still felt some lingering friendship towards the demon. Since Crowley was at least partly at fault for the whole mess they found themselves in, that seemed strange. Sam would happily have killed him long ago were it not for the fact that they had no idea who would rise in his place.

"So, how are you feeling, Dean? Any last lingering side effects from the Mark of Cain?" he asked. Dean turned off the radio.

"You wanna talk about this now?" he asked. Sam furrowed his brow. _Was the question that controversial?_

"Uh, yeah? I mean, we haven't talked about it so far and I figure that we should." Sam replied uncertainly. Dean harrumphed and his fingers tightened on the wheel.

"OK, fine. I'm fine. No side effects. We done? Good." Sam couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

"All right then. Sorry." He turned away to look out of the window at the passing countryside.

"I feel bad, OK." Dean said suddenly, after a considerable pause. Sam rotated his head so quickly it made him dizzy.

"Define bad?" he said in surprise. His brother sighed.

"About Cas. I beat him within an inch of his life," he frowned in memory. "I came so close to just ending him, just stabbing him with that angel blade over and over and-" his voice cracked and he broke off.

"But you didn't," Sam reminded him. "You stopped. And Cas has forgiven you. Hell, you let him beat the crap out of you just a few weeks ago and wouldn't let him heal you because you felt you had it coming. Seems to me you guys are even. Not that I think Cas thinks about it that way, but you know. You guys are cool now, right?" Dean swallowed.

"I dunno, man," he said after a long pause. "I mean, he isn't holding a grudge or anything because, well, he's Cas. I don't think he does grudges, at least not anymore."

"Not when it comes to you, you mean," Sam grinned. "The rest of us, I wouldn't be so sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean growled and Sam kicked himself.

"Nothing. Just that your friendship's been through a lot more than most relationships, that's all."

"OK, we're done here." Dean announced. He reached out and turned the radio back on.

* * *

Lewisburg was a small town with a quaint air to it, like it had been frozen in time. This part of central Pennsylvania was not well populated and the closest major cities were all hours away. Sam quite liked it, but Dean seemed less impressed. They checked into a local motel and then drove across the river into Milton to talk to the state troopers there.

Trooper Hudson was an large, amiable man with a bushy beard and more to say about his lovely daughters than anything useful on the case.

"Honestly, I can't really understand why the Feds would send you boys up here on this one," he told them. "It's an open-and-shut case. I have two dozen eyewitnesses say they saw Mike Waters open fire on shoppers in the store. I have three witnesses who saw him in the gun store buying the weapons. Mike himself admits that he did it. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"I thought he had been killed. Can we talk to him?" Dean said. The trooper rolled his eyes.

"Shot, yeah. Through the leg. He's in the hospital, I can call my guy there, tell him to expect you."

"Great, thanks." Sam smiled. The trooper handed over a copy of the file.

"There's not much in there that'll help you. But never let it be said I don't know my duty."

* * *

Hudson had told the Winchesters that Mike Waters was supposed to be guarded at all times. But when they finally found his room at the hospital, there was nobody to be seen. Peeking around the door, Sam and Dean saw that Waters was sound asleep. Coughing theatrically, Dean strode into the room and flashed his badge at the man in the bed when he awoke.

"I'm Special Agent Taylor, this is my partner, Special Agent Deacon." Dean introduced.

"FBI?" Waters spluttered. "What do you want?"

"We're here to talk about what happened at the Food Market two days ago," Sam told him.

"There's nothing to tell," Waters said stubbornly. "I got up, I went to the gun store, I bought a bunch of guns and ammo, and I went and shot up the place. End of story."

"We'd like to understand why you did this, Mr Waters," Sam prodded. Waters shifted restlessly in the bed.

"Why? What does it matter? I confessed. Period." Sam made a quelling gesture.

"I understand that, but we would still like to know why a man who has never so much as raised a fist to another man his entire life would suddenly go on a rampage like this." Waters was sullen.

"It was a gift," he said. Sam looked at him in bewilderment.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Waters looked down at the floor, unwilling to elaborate. "Mr Waters, you killed four people. We need to know if anyone else is going to do what you did."

"At the fair, there was a fortune teller. She told me she could give me a gift. I had to tell her my deepest, darkest secret wish. And if I did, she said I would receive the gift of fulfillment. And she was right. I told her that I have been a pacifist all my life, and people disrespect me for that. Like it's a bad thing. It makes me so mad, I wanted to teach them a lesson. And that's what she gave me, the courage to act on that impulse." He slumped further down the bed.

"It doesn't seem like a very good deal," Sam said carefully. "I mean, you're going to prison, probably for the rest of your life. Why would you agree to something like that?"

"I don't know," Waters said miserably. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

* * *

Sam and Dean made their way down to the morgue, to talk to the pathologist, a snub-nosed, stocky woman with a shock of curly brown hair and a cheery demeanor that seemed wildly out of keeping with her profession.

"Feebies, huh?" She grinned when presented with their badges. "Don't get much of the Men in Black treatment up here in the sticks."

"We'd like to talk to you about Terry Wood," Sam told her. She sobered a little.

"Yeah, that was a nasty one." She ushered them into her office and pulled a file from her desk. "He hadn't eaten meat in forty years. His body would have been totally unequipped to cope with it. And he ate so much that he actually ruptured his stomach. It was like he was possessed. I've never seen anything like it. He ate himself to death."  
"Did you know the victim?" Dean asked. She frowned in thought.

"Not really. I mean, we attended the same church so I knew who he was, but not more than to say hello to." Sam's ears pricked up.

"Which church would that be?" he asked and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"First Presbyterian. Why?" Sam smiled reassuringly at her.

"We're just trying to find out if another case is connected to this one, like if the victims knew each other." Her brow cleared.

"You're talking about Mike Waters. Yes, he attends our church too. Not regularly, he isn't the most devout soul, but I've seen him there from time to time." She hesitated and began to look nervous. "That was what you meant, right?"

"Well-" Sam started.

"This is about Pastor Blayze, isn't it?" she exclaimed. "Well, I for one don't believe any of it. A more Godly man, a pastor more committed to his flock you could not hope to meet. I think those girls are wicked, very wicked indeed to say such terrible things." She folded her arms defensively across her bosom and glared at them.

"We're very sorry, Ma'am, but you understand we have to investigate all angles," Dean said sternly. Her shoulders slumped.

"I suppose. But I'm telling you, Pastor Blayze is innocent."

Outside in the corridor, Sam chewed at his lip.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Not sure," his brother replied. "I mean the fortune teller angle, could be a witch yeah. But unless we know that the other victims also met with her, it could also just be some New Age type with crystals and an active imagination."

"But there is a case here, right?" Sam pressed. Dean looked puzzled.

"Yeah, man. I think so. Why, don't you?" Sam frowned.

"I dunno. I mean, yeah I think there's a case. But I also get the feeling we're being led around by the nose," he explained. Dean looked troubled.

"You wanna check out the church?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"I think that's the logical next step. Too many threads of this case seem to connect there."


	4. Chapter Three

The First Presbyterian Church was an elegant structure of blond and white, with a pointed steeple and white columns at the front. Inside was simple white and dark stained wood and few ornaments, typical of the tradition. A tall,thin man was standing at the altar, muttering to himself.

He turned when he heard the squeak of Sam's shoes.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. Dean flashed his badge and nudged Sam to do the same. The man stiffened. "If this is about Pastor Blayze, I have nothing further to say."

"No, no," Sam soothed. 'This is about Terry Wood." Mollified, the man held out his hand.

"Pastor Quirke. I was sent up from Harrisburg after the Blayze...unpleasantness. I'm not sure I can tell you very much."

"Anything you can say might help us," Sam said gently. Pastor Quirke's face took on a pinched expression.

"Terry was a good man. Very committed to his ideals. You heard he was a vegan? It just doesn't make any sense." Sam gave him a sympathetic look.

"And Mike Waters was a worshipper here too?" he asked. Pastor Quirke sighed.

"Yes. Not a regular church-goer outside of the festivals but a good man. I believe we are being tested, but why now I couldn't say. I will say this. I complained about the fortune teller at the county fair this year. I am a tolerant man but I do not see that we should have to stand for the practice of witchcraft in our midst." Dean straightened and exchanged a look with Sam.

"Witchcraft?" he asked. Quirke gave him a withering look.

"No doubt the FBI doesn't believe in witches."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what we believe," Dean said wryly. Sam suppressed a grin.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not sure many in the church even believe in witches these days. But mark my words, I know a witch when I see one."

"I don't suppose you have a name?" Sam asked. "For this witch, I mean."

"Lady Eighty," Quirke replied. Sam looked puzzled.

"That's a strange name," he observed. Quirke sneered.

"Well, it was something like that. She was foreign, with a thick accent. It sounded like Eighty to me."

Sam tossed the end of his pizza crust back into the box and tapped idly at his computer. Dean sucked on his beer and leaned back in his chair.

"Find anything?" he asked. Sam frowned.

"Not really. Lady Eighty is apparently either a Danish singer or a pedigree racehorse." he said morosely.

"Well, I think we can rule out the horse at least!" Dean laughed. Sam couldn't help but laugh with him.

"We'd better start at the fair then." Sam concluded. Dean rolled his eyes. Local county fairs. _Awesome._ He looked at his watch and yawned.

"Alright, first thing tomorrow, we check out the fair." He flopped down on the bed and reached out to switch out his light.

Sam checked his email but there was nothing of interest. He closed the lid of his laptop and settled down on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Then he rolled over and switched off his light.

* * *

Sam was in a field on the edge of a thick forest, a sinuous mist curling between the trunks and bare branches. He breathed out and shivered as his breath formed heavy on the chilly air. It was perhaps no more than a few minutes after dawn at a guess. Silence wrapped itself around him, and the stillness began to make him feel uneasy. The flap of wings broke the peace into shards and Sam looked around to find the source. A raven sat on a high branch, looking down at him with golden eyes. It cawed at him, a raucous sound in all this quiet.

"Hey, bird," Sam said, feeling faintly ridiculous. "What's up?" The raven turned it's head on one side and then lifted one foot. Sam could see something wrapped around the raven's leg, a metal ring of some kind although he was too far away to make out any details. The raven hopped along the branch and then spread it's wings and drifted down to Sam, landing on his shoulder. It nuzzled its beak into his neck like an affectionate greeting, then hopped down his arm. Sam took the opportunity to inspect the ring. It was inscribed with some kind of runes or symbols. Enochian? Sam dug in his pocket for his phone so he could take some pictures and send them to Cas but to his dismay his phone was missing. He eyed the raven, who he was sure was laughing at him.

"Go ahead," Sam told it. "Laugh if you must, but I have… no… idea…" he broke off. As he gazed at the raven, he was getting the strangest feeling. Like something was about to happen.

A warning? He wasn't sure. The raven rubbed its head against his arm and then took to the air. Sam followed it down to a river bank where a woman was sat, hunched over. He approached her cautiously and gasped as she looked up. She was quite old, but what shocked Sam was that her eyes were missing, empty sockets gaped at him and his gorge rose. Then her head dropped again and Sam's gaze was drawn to the pile of clothes in her lap. He recognized his shirt and one of Dean's. They were soaked in blood. The woman was scrubbing at them with an old-fashioned washboard. As she lifted Sam's shirt, red liquid dripped into the water. The woman lifted her head once more and even without eyes, Sam felt like she was glaring at him.

Sam started awake, and cast a look at Dean still sleeping soundly. It was still dark, sunrise was clearly still hours away. He frowned, thinking about his strange dream. Although his psychic abilities had mostly faded with the death of Azazel and his victory over his demon blood addiction, he still had dreams sometimes. Mostly they were very confusing and made little sense until after the event, which rendered them pretty useless as warnings. This one had been more coherent than most, if still utterly baffling. He pulled out his dream journal and headed into the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the light and jotted down the details he could remember. Staring at his reflection, he jumped when a shadow out of the corner of his eye seemed to shift suddenly. Now fully alert, he turned to where he'd seen the movement, but there was nothing there. That didn't mean he was alone, as Sam knew all too well. He dug into his washbag for anything that could help, but unless his deodorant had magical properties he was unaware of, he was out of luck. There was no more evidence that anyone was there and Sam wondered if he'd let the spooky dream get to him. He grabbed the journal, flicked off the light and climbed back into bed.

* * *

The fair was relatively busy and was much like any other county fair that he had seen, but Sam appreciated the amount of locally grown organic produce and artisan wares. Dean looked miserable. Sam nudged him with his elbow.

"Look, I know you're bored but can you please not look like a bulldog chewing a wasp?" he asked his brother. Dean plastered on the fakest smile imaginable.

"This better?" he snarled. Sam gave up.

After passing several stalls selling various foods and crafts, they found themselves outside a purple tent with a sign that read "Mysteries Revealed $10". Sam laughed and nudged Dean again.

"Think this could be the place?" he asked. Dean shrugged. It was worth a shot.

"Let me talk to her," Sam said. "They normally don't let more than one person in at a time."

"OK," Dean said. "Just don't believe anything she says." Sam rolled his eyes and entered the tent.

Inside was like every TV show psychic and carnival fortune teller stereotype Sam had ever encountered. Purple velvet covered _everything_ and there were crystal balls, tarot cards, pentagrams, spellbooks Sam knew to be garbage, and the whole place reeked of incense. Sam tried to suppress the urge to sneeze. The woman who appeared from behind a curtain, was nothing like Sam expected. She had pale, washed-out blonde hair, and was quite tiny, at least two feet shorter than Sam and she made him feel like a giant. Her eyes were gray and her features unremarkable. Sam thought she was 40 or so, perhaps a little older.

"Welcome," she said in a soft voice. Sam gave her as innocent a smile as he could muster.

"Hi. Uh, I guess I want my fortune read. Or whatever." He stammered, trying his best to seem like the perfect mark.

"Sam Winchester," she said with a smile. "How nice to meet you." He stared at her.

"No, uh, you've made a mistake," he lied. "My name's-" She made a curt gesture and he found himself unable to speak.

"Do not insult my intelligence. I know who you are. I know you're here with your brother, Dean. I know many things about you, Sam." _Shit. Now what._ "You're here because of the recent spate of misfortune to hit the clergy and congregation at First Presbyterian."

"Uh, yeah. I guess I am," Sam admitted. She smiled at him in a strangely familiar manner.

"I am not the cause of their woes. At least, not most of them. Pastor Blayze, yes that was me. Disgusting man. He successfully concealed his crimes for years, becoming more and more brazen. I made sure that justice was served. But the others, the strange man who ate only vegetables, the foolish man who believes in a world without violence, no. This was not my doing."

"I only have your word for that," Sam said hesitantly. "It's a strange coincidence, you and someone else targeting the same small community in rural Pennsylvania." She smiled at him.

"Of course. But that's why I am so glad you came to see me. I have a bargain for you." Sam pursed his lips.

"I don't make deals," he told her firmly. She twinkled at him.

"You're going to want to make this one," she told him. "I guarantee it."

* * *

Dean was bored. Sam had been inside the tent forever. Well, ten minutes at least. But he could hardly go barging in there and find him in the middle of a seance or whatever. No reason to let the chick know the gig was up just yet. He paced restlessly and only came to a stop when a pretty brunette in a very fetching tavern wench get-up sashayed up to him.

"Hi," she said, smiling broadly. He gave her his very best, most charming smile.

"Hi, yourself," he replied. "You working, or is this how you dress on your day off?" Ugh! Was that the best he could do? He might as well have asked if she was a hooker. Her smile dimmed a little.

"I'm working the mead stall over there," she pointed. "You wanna check it out?" Dean frowned.

"Mead?" She nodded enthusiastically.

"It's a kind of wine, made from honey. It's pretty sweet but it's so good," she enthused.

"OK, yeah. I could give it a go," Dean told her. "But I'm waiting for my brother, he's getting his fortune read."

"Well, once he's done, bring him over. I bet he's just as delicious as you are." She handed him a wooden token. "Take this, you might need it one day." she said with a wink as she sauntered away.

* * *

Sam stared at the woman, perplexed.

"Are you Lady Eighty?" he asked.

"No. But she is who you seek," she told him. "I am… an interested party."

"What can you tell me about her? Is she a witch?"

"Até is a Greek Goddess, her aspects are mischief, ruin, delusion and folly."

"A Greek Goddess? Wow. What's she doing in the middle of nowhere?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? I don't know the answer to that. I can tell you one thing. She can only be killed by the spear of Diomedes."

"That's been lost for centuries," Sam objected. She smiled at him.

"It has been found and it's here in Pennsylvania. That spear can kill Até, for sure, but it's very dangerous. When you kill her, the spear will absorb her power. You will need to find a way to discharge it safely. I can do that for you. Bring me the spear, once Até is dead, and I will make sure the power she wielded cannot be used for such evil again. As payment for such as service I will give you something you have lost."

"It's a bit vague." Sam told her. She smiled at him, impishly.

"If you don't do this, Até's power will be unleashed upon this community. Many could die, hundreds, maybe even thousands. So you really don't have much choice." Sam thought about it. If he agreed, he could always change his mind later.

"Not so fast," she grinned. _Shit, did she just read his mind?_ "If you break the deal, the consequences will be severe. A curse, a fate worse than death." She shuddered. "Please, don't think of double crossing us."

"Us?" Sam blinked. "I thought this deal was just between you and me. Not that I even know who you are."

"Who I am is not important, but since you are curious, my name is Astrid. I have a patron. He is watching," she explained. Sam narrowed his eyes at her.

"But you won't tell me who your patron is?" She shook her head.

"He has his reasons for keeping his identity a secret for now. But he is a friend, I swear," Sam thought Dean might kick his ass for making such a deal, but he was inclined to accept anyway.

For some reason he trusted her.

"OK. What do we have to do to seal the deal?" he asked. Astrid produced a length of woven rope that she used to bind their hands together at the wrist. She began to chant in a sing-song tone.

Sam didn't recognize the language, but thought it might be something Germanic.

When Sam left the tent, Dean was pacing back and forth.

"Well?" he demanded. Sam related his conversation with Astrid.

"Lemme call Cas, see what he knows." he said, pulling out his phone.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted him warmly. Dean suppressed a shiver at the way the angel's voice vibrated in his ear.

"Hey, Cas. I thought I might run something by you. We're on the trail of this Greek Goddess by the name of Lady Eighty, does that mean anything to you?" He blinked at the sharp inhale of breath at the end of the phone.

"Do you mean Até?" the angel asked.

"Uh, what's the difference? We hear we need some old spear to gank her." Dean replied.

"That would be the spear of Diomedes, lost since antiquity," the angel informed him.

"Oh, right. Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find," Dean said sarcastically.

"You asked me how to kill her," Cas said, sounding hurt. "That's the only way I know of." Dean cursed under his breath.

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to sound ungrateful."

"You're in luck. There was an archaeological dig in Argos last year. It's a city in Greece and it's one of the places Diomedes was rumored to have died. They found a tomb, but it had been robbed centuries ago. There were a few artifacts though, and one was a spear. There were some strange stories around the dig and the spear. Rumors of a curse, stories about a ghostly figure who would move around the site at night and frighten the graduate students. The spear ended up in Philadelphia, at the University of Pennsylvania. Dr George Maniatis, a world expert in ancient Greek history is analyzing it."

"OK, I guess Sam and I will try and find this guy." He hung up, grinning.

"What's got you so happy?" Sam asked.

"I just spoke to Cas," Dean told him. "He told me how we find the spear."


	5. Chapter Four

Sam held out his hands for the keys to the Impala. Dean frowned at him.

"Look, it's three hours to Philadelphia from here, and you hate talking to academics. Plus, we still haven't actually located Até. So I figure I'll go talk to Dr. Maniatis and you could hang out here and see if you can get a location on our Goddess." Dean looked uncomfortable.

"Nah, man. I'm coming along. I got a weird feeling about this case." Sam peered at him.

"What kind of feeling?" he asked. Dean shrugged.

"I dunno. You said earlier you felt like we were being led around by the nose. Kinda like that. But also like we're being watched," he muttered. Sam frowned, his brother was hardly one to jump at shadows. If his instincts were being roused, they should pay attention.

"You're talking about Astrid," he surmised. Dean grimaced.

"Yeah, and whoever her patron is. I hate this, Sam. Some son of a bitch has decided to turn us into his own personal puppets and I hate it." His hands clenched and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Sam agreed. He climbed into the passenger seat and leaned his head back as Dean gunned the engine.

* * *

The History department at the University of Pennsylvania was a curious old building of green and gray stone. It took half an hour to make their way through milling undergraduates and find Dr Maniatis' office. Sam tapped politely at the door and stepped back in surprise when a dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties yanked it open. She had flawless pale skin and was lushly figured in a way that Dean was sure to notice, Sam thought. She regarded them both with frank appraisal.

"You're not one of my students," she declared. She looked Sam up and down with an appreciative gaze. "Alas." Sam coughed uncomfortably and Dean flashed her a winning smile.

"We're looking for Dr George Maniatis. We thought this was his office?" She began to laugh, a rich throaty laugh that seemed entirely inappropriate for a college professor.

"I'm Dr Maniatis," she told them. "But you can call me George. It's short for Georgiana. My mother was a Jane Austen fan. I have eight brothers and sisters, all named for characters in Pride and Prejudice."

Sam smiled.

"You're named for Mr. Darcy's sister," he realized. Dean looked at him incredulously.

"It's a good book," Sam defended.

"Well," George said. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"We're researchers for a popular history podcast, We Are History." Sam told her smoothly, using the cover story they'd agreed on in the car. Well, Sam had suggested it and Dean had agreed, once Sam explained what a podcast was. George beamed at them.

"All my students listen to We Are History!" she exclaimed delightedly. "Are you here about the Argos dig?"

"Yes, we're interested in covering a number of important archaeological finds that were made but possibly not widely covered in the mainstream media for our end of the year show." Sam explained. She nodded.

"Ah, yes. You did that last year too, it was very good. Well, come in and I'll see what I can tell you." She ushered them into her office and produced a bottle of very expensive Kentucky whiskey from her desk drawer and three crystal glasses. She waved the bottle at them with a wicked grin.

"Can I tempt you to a little something?" Dean nodded enthusiastically but Sam demurred.

"Come on," she encouraged. "It's five o'clock somewhere." He gave in and accepted the glass she had poured. She spent a few moments outlining the history of the city, her struggles to get funding for her expedition and finally got around to talking about the spear. Normally Dean was struggling to look interested by this point in an interview, but somehow her enthusiasm and vivid way of speaking kept them both riveted.

"Finding the spear was very odd, you know." George mused. "We'd been having some strange occurrences at the dig sites. Graduate students are an excitable lot, and so I'd dismissed it as nothing more than overactive young imaginations. And the site was a bit spooky at night, especially because of this pack of feral cats that would come out to steal food and fight over territory once the sun went down.

"The day we found it had been just a terrible day. One of the students was hurt by some falling masonry. Broke his collarbone. So I had to take him to the hospital. When I got back, the generator had failed and nobody could get it restarted so we had to shut the dig down early. I stayed around, working by candlelight on the translation of an inscription we'd found which we thought was the entrance to Diomedes tomb. Several times I thought I heard someone moving around, or saw someone out of the corner of my eye. But even though I searched the site with a powerful flashlight, I didn't catch them. If they were even there. But it was while I was out searching for the intruder that I caught a glimpse of something reflecting the light of my flashlight. I got closer and realized that what we had thought a old torch was actually the shaft of a spear."

She paused and grinned at them. "Would you like to see it?"

"Oh, yeah!" Dean enthused. Sam plastered an interested look on his face.

"Well, then. Follow me!" She led them down the corridor to a dingy looking flight of stairs lit by a single, flickering lightbulb. Sam exchanged a look with his brother. It could just be bad wiring, but it didn't hurt to be on their guard.

George bounded down the steps without a care to the poor light. She escorted them into a small room dominated by a single table covered in a plain, white sheet. She pulled it back with a flourish. On the table was a spear, the haft made of some yellow wood with three bands of gold in the middle. The blade was green with brown splotches, and shaped rather like a leaf. As an historical artifact it was no doubt interesting, but it didn't seem especially like a powerful weapon capable of slaying a God.

"Wow," Sam said, trying to sound impressed. She flashed him a toothy smile.

"You're disappointed," she surmised. Sam looked embarrassed.

"Well, you know. The spear of Diomedes, there's a lot of mythology around it. Like it's supposed to be able to kill anything, even a God." he said weakly.

"Ah," she said. "So that's why you're really here." Sam gaped at her.

"I should have realized that my activities would attract the attention of hunters, sooner or later. Dr Maniatis was such a nice lady, I've really had a lot of fun running around this meatsuit. Mm hmm. It's a shame really."

She thrust out one hand and pinned Dean to the wall behind him with the sheer force of her will. Sam cursed and lunged for the spear, but he was too late. She snatched it out of his reach and pointed it right at him. _Oh, shit._ Sam stepped back and dropped suddenly, the spear whistling by just above his head. He rolled across the floor and stopped against a set of shelves, that rocked unnervingly. Something fell past his shoulder and he grabbed it instinctively. It was a small statuette, engraved with one word: ἄτη. Sam gasped, this was Até's likeness. This could not be a coincidence, but what it was trying to tell him he couldn't say. So, lacking options, he threw it at Até's head.

She swiped at it with the spear and it shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Sparks flew from the spear's tip. She started to laugh, and then began to shriek and her body began to splinter. Then with a spectacular sound, she shattered, just as the statuette had done. Dean dropped to the floor in a heap and Sam leaned back against the shelves. That had been close.

After catching his breath for a few minutes, Sam pulled himself up off the floor and picked his way through the broken pieces of Goddess to the spear. It looked different to how it had looked before, there was a subtle glow to the wood and the blade looked sharper. Sam picked it up carefully, and inhaled sharply at the sensation that ran up his arm. This blade thirsted for blood and it would be quite happy for Sam to guide it to its next victim. And there was a lovely candidate right here. Sam stared down at the spear horrified as it tugged towards Dean. More sparks began to fly from the blade. _Dammit, Astrid hadn't mentioned this!_

"Dean!" he shouted in alarm. "The spear wants blood! I don't know if I can hold it!" Dean surged to his feet and danced out of the way as Sam's arm thrust out the spear completely against his wishes.

"Dammit, why is nothing ever simple?" Dean complained as he dodged another thrust. "Can't you drop the spear?" Sam shook his head.

"No. I've tried, believe me." He ducked as something flew past his head. "Hey! Don't throw stuff at me!"

"That wasn't me," Dean grunted as the spear dragged Sam forwards in a lunge. He caught the sight of a shadow in the corner of his eye and turned his head, but he couldn't see anyone. Then he felt a cold sensation, icy and burning against the skin of his arm. He gasped and his hand opened reflexively. The spear clattered to the floor and Sam heaved a sigh of relief. He looked around for his brother. Dean was hidden under the table, his favorite pistol in his hand.

"Were you planning to shoot me?" Sam wondered. Dean grimaced.

"If you couldn't use your arm, I figured you couldn't stick me with the disco stick here." Dean said, shamefaced. Sam looked at the spear, which seemed to emanate a malevolent presence. He looked around to see if he could see any sign of his savior. Something had definitely grabbed hold of his arm and broken the spear's power over him enough that he could let go.

"So how are we going to carry this thing back to Astrid?" Sam asked. "We can't leave it lying around here. Someone's going to get hurt." Dean nodded tiredly.

"I'm open to suggestions." he said. Sam looked around the room. The spear had to have be packaged for shipment from Greece. Maybe the box was still here. Up on a tall shelf he spotted a long crate that would be ideal. Whether it was the original box or not, it would do the trick. Using the handle of a sweeping brush, he rolled the spear into the box and closed it as tightly as he could. He exchanged a look with his brother. He really did not want to be shot if this box was not enough to protect him from the spear's effects. He hesitated and then picked it up. He could feel the spear vibrating inside its makeshift prison, but the urge to stab at Dean was thankfully absent.

Or at least, no stronger than usual, he thought with a carefully concealed grin.

* * *

Leaving the basement was going to be another challenge. It was late enough that most undergraduates should no longer be around but academics and graduate students often worked odd hours, so there was every chance they could run into someone who might raise the alarm. They crept up the stairs and tiptoed down the hall. Someone was waiting outside Dr Maniatis' office, but they were concentrating on the note they were writing on a scrap of paper and did not notice the Winchester brothers sneaking by with an eight foot long box. Sam gave a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was responsible that they encountered nobody on the walk back to the Impala and was startled when he felt a strange, warm glow. Like someone had heard him, and appreciated his gratitude.

Dean swore and pounded on the steering wheel as they navigated Philadelphia's traffic. Sam wasn't sure if this was normal end of rush hour craziness or whether there had been an incident that made the traffic so bad, but it took more than two hours just to get outside the city limits and Dean's temper smoldered and burned.

" _Fuck!"_ his brother shouted expressively, as an SUV with Delaware plates swerved into the lane just inches in front of them and then braked hard. Sam gritted his teeth and decided they were never coming back to this city. Finally, just when Sam was beginning to worry that Dean might just pull out his gun and shoot the next person who pissed him off, the traffic began to ease. Still, it was a tense journey back towards Lewisburg, and Sam was more than glad when the lights of their motel appeared.

"Do you want to leave the spear in the car or take it into the room with us?" Sam asked as he got out of the car. Dean frowned in thought.

"I hate the idea of having it in the room with us, but I ain't real happy leaving it in the car either. Better bring it with us." he decided. Sam nodded and helped Dean unload the box from the trunk. They carried it to the room, ignoring the curious stares of a motel guest out on the balcony smoking a cigarette.

Once inside the room, Dean collapsed on the bed.

"I don't suppose Astrid gave you her number?" he asked plaintively.

"No. I think she will contact us soon enough, though. She seemed very concerned about the power of this thing being loosed upon the world." Sam toed off his boots and headed for the bathroom. "I'm gonna hit the shower."

Dean pulled Cas' number up on his phone and hit 'call'. The angel answered after only one ring, as though he had been waiting for the call. Knowing Cas, that wasn't altogether unlikely.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted him.

"Hey, Cas. We got the spear and ganked Até. Not bad for a day's work." Dean told him.

"That's impressive," Cas said, sounding genuinely pleased. "Will you be coming straight home?"

Dean felt an aching sensation in his chest at the question. He'd love to be able to say, yes, he and Sam were headed back to the bunker. "Sorry, man. This spear's a piece of work. We met a lady here, well Sam did anyway. Her name is Astrid. She-"

"Astrid!' Cas yelped. Dean felt the stirrings of alarm.

"Yeah, she talked to Sam at the county fair. Do you know her?"

"Not exactly," Cas said evasively.

"Cas," Dean said in warning. "You obviously know who she is."

"The Astrid I'm thinking of is dead. It's just a coincidence." Cas said, but his tone was unsettled. Dean let it go for now.

"Well, she seemed to think she could deal with this spear now it's gone all homicidal maniac on us."

"I don't understand what you're saying," Cas complained.

"The spear, after it killed Até, it took on a mind of its own. Made Sam nearly stab me with it." Dean heard Cas' indrawn breath. "Astrid warned us something bad might happen with the spear. Said she could do something about it."

"It's impossible." Cas declared and Dean's forehead creased.

"I'm telling you man, Sam nearly turned me into a shish kebab!" Dean insisted

"No, no. I believe you about the spear. I'm talking about Astrid." Cas told him.

"Who is she? Tell me!" Dean demanded.

"She was the human consort of the Irish deity, Lugh, for a time. She has been dead for many centuries. So I do not see how it can be the same woman." Cas told him.

"Lou?" Dean asked. "Never heard of him."

"One of the Tuatha Dé Danaan." Cas explained.

"Thoo-a day du-non?" Dean repeated. "Who are they?"

"They're a supernatural race in Irish mythology. They're often confused with the aos si, but they're really quite different."

"Ace shee?"

"Fairies," Cas said shortly. Dean got the impression the angel didn't like fairies very much.

"So, now I know what the Tuatha Dé Danaan are not, but what are they?" Dean felt like he was pulling teeth. Cas really didn't seem to want to talk about this.

"It's hard to explain," Cas said. "They're powerful magical creatures and very dangerous. Morality and ethics as you and I understand them are totally different for them. Most humans have more sense than to interfere in their affairs and thankfully, they mostly ignore anyone who is not Tuatha Dé. Lugh was a high king, like a clan chief. He met Astrid and they fell in love. She bore him a child. The stories differ at this point. Some say she betrayed him with a Fomorian, who are the mortal enemies of the Tuatha Dé. Others say that this was a vicious lie. They claim another Tuatha Dé, who disapproved of Lugh's alliance with a human, framed her. Still others claim that the split was amicable, that Astrid wanted to see more of the world and so Lugh set her free. I do not know what the truth is. It is irrelevant, it cannot be the same Astrid."

"OK," Dean said, tired of story hour. "Well, whoever she is, can she do what she claims?"

"I have no idea," Cas replied. "I didn't even know about the spear's curse." Dean sighed.

"All right, man. Thanks. Talk to you later."


	6. Chapter Five

The next morning was gray and overcast, with a heavy drizzle that seemed to cast a leaden pall over everything. Sam was withdrawn and Dean was feeling surly after a very poor night's sleep.

They headed straight for the fair, unlike many of the locals who apparently decided to stay home.

Finding Astrid's tent again was no problem, and this time both brothers entered, hoping to get this mess over with so that they could go home.

When Astrid appeared, Dean observed his brother's entire demeanor changed. His mood was lighter, he smiled more easily and even laughed when she made a joke at his expense as he related the tale of how they had found the spear and killed Até.

"I am impressed," she told them both when Sam had finished. "I did not think you would kill her so easily, and fighting off the spear's curse is even more amazing."

"Yeah, thanks for the warning on that," Dean said icily. She gave him a gentle smile.

"I told Sam everything I knew. Nobody has seen this spear in many centuries." She held out her hands and Sam placed the box gingerly on the table in front of her. She opened the crate and stared down at the spear with something approaching awe.

"Oh, it's true," she breathed. "My lord, it's true." She went to pick it up and Dean stepped forward in alarm.

"Woah, there. Last time someone picked this thing up, it tried to kill me. Let's be a little more careful, OK?" he exclaimed. She gave him an indulgent look.

"I am protected. There is no need to be afraid." She grasped the spear firmly and lifted it from the box, speaking aloud in her strange language. The spear glowed and then the light died. She bowed towards them both.

"My patron is well pleased. Thank you both for your efforts on our behalf. If you are willing, we may have more work for you soon." Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

"Uh, what kind of work?" he asked. She shook her head.

"It is not for me to say." She turned a smile on Sam that Dean couldn't interpret and he got the impression some kind of communication passed between them. Then she disappeared. Sam blinked.

"Wow," he said unnecessarily. He looked around the tent as if seeing it for the first time. "I guess that's our cue to leave." He ducked under the tent flap and Dean followed. Outside the rain had gotten heavier and Dean grimaced.

"Hey, there was a mead seller here last time. Wanna go check it out before we hit the road?" he asked with a hopeful grin.

"Was she pretty?" Sam laughed. Dean shrugged. "OK, fine. Let's go try it out."

* * *

The mead stall was by far the most popular stall at the fair today. Dean winked at the attractive woman in the tavern wench outfit, whose name turned out to be Lily. Sam predicted Dean would have her number before they got their drinks. But she was too busy to chat and so Dean had to content himself with a few flirtatious comments and leave it at that. Sam gave him a look.

"We can stick around if you wanna hook up with her later," he said generously. Dean shook his head.

"Nah. I'm ready to go home." He fingered the token Lily had given him, a strange carved wooden disk.

"What is that anyway?" Sam asked curiously. Dean frowned.

"I don't know. She said I might need it one day." Sam looked sharply at his brother.

"That's a strange thing to say. Is it magical, or cursed?" Dean offered it to Sam, who inspected it closely. "We should get Cas to check it out," he said finally. Dean looked uncomfortable but nodded in agreement.

"Come on. This weather's only getting worse, and we've got a long way to go."

* * *

Sam eyed his brother with a degree of amusement. Dean seemed very keen to get back to the bunker, and so they had driven almost non-stop since they'd left Pennsylvania. But enough was enough, Sam needed to stretch his legs and get something to eat.

"We need to stop, Dean," Sam told his brother. "We gotta eat and we must be getting low on gas." Dean squinted at the fuel gauge.

"Yeah, all right. There was a sign a few miles back for a rest area. It should be coming up soon. Let's see what they have to offer."

The rest stop had a diner called Denise's and the price of gas wasn't too bad. Sam ordered a salad and Dean ordered a cheeseburger. Sam smiled to himself. Him and Dean had been through a few rough years but there were few constants in their lives and this was one of them. Though as he poked at the sad looking salad, he rather wished he'd ordered a burger too.

"So, that case was weird," he said carefully.

"You're telling me!" Dean garbled through a mouthful of french fries. "I mean we've done ancient Gods and Goddesses before, remember Veritas?"

"How could I forget?" Sam said sarcastically.

"And y'know, weird cursed weapons, not entirely out of our wheelhouse." Dean continued. Sam nodded.

"But, still. Weird. What was the deal with you and that Astrid chick?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sam frowned.

"Oh come on man!" Dean exclaimed, spitting bits of hamburger everywhere. Sam grimaced. "It was like you were a different person when she was around. Did you two bang or something last time?"

"What? No!" Sam denied.

"Seriously? OK. But you two had a weird vibe, man." Dean said. He popped the last of his burger into his mouth and chewed contemplatively.

"I still don't know what you mean." Sam told him.

"It's hard to explain," Dean said. "You just seemed… happier, calmer, I dunno. Different."

"You're imagining things," Sam said firmly.

"Yeah? And what about Cas?" Dean said triumphantly, like he held the final ace.

"What about him?" Sam asked, now thoroughly confused. _What the Hell was Dean getting at here?_

"He went all weird when I mentioned Astrid's name. Like he knew her. I called him on it, he denied it. Kinda. Said he knew of an Astrid once, but that it couldn't be the same one. Chick was long dead. Like centuries."

"Well, sometimes names can develop an association. Like how you don't trust anyone called Caleb. No reason, totally random bad association with a name."

"I have a reason," Dean said quietly.

"No you don't. You knew one Caleb who was a son of a bitch? OK, but that hardly taints them all by association."

"Moving on," Dean said quickly. "Astrid. We know anything about her?" Sam looked at his brother for a moment, weighing whether to press further or let it go. He backed off.

"Not really. Other than her name, which may not even _be_ her name by the way, the only other thing we know is she has power and she has a sponsor of some kind. Is she human? No idea. I didn't test her. Her patron probably isn't, I'd say pagan god, demon, something powerful certainly."

"Maybe," Dean reflected.

"Also, there something else," Sam added. "When we were fighting Até, I saw something. Like out of the corner of my eye. A shadow. I'm sure it's what knocked the statue into my lap. And later, when I was holding the spear, something grabbed my arm. It was how I was able to drop it. It felt cold but powerful. Like electricity and ice. Sorry, that's not very descriptive."

"You think it's related to Astrid's patron?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged.

"Honestly, I've no idea. But the whole case was almost like a set up. Except we're OK." He pushed the remains of his salad away and stole a french fry off Dean's plate.

"So maybe it was a test?" Dean proposed. Sam stared at him.

"I hope not."

* * *

It was very late when they finally got back to the bunker. Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder and headed off to bed. Dean was too wired to sleep just yet. No doubt Cas would be around somewhere. It wasn't that he needed to see him or anything. But having somebody to chat to would be nice. He strolled into the library, and was rewarded with the sight of the angel, head bowed over a book. Cas looked up as he walked in.

"Dean," he said happily. "I'm glad you're back." Dean scratched at his stubble uncomfortably.

"Hey, Cas. What's happening?"

"Not very much. I am progressing well with this translation," the angel told him.

"Good. That's good. Uh. So, this case in Pennsylvania. I wish you'd been there." Cas looked away and Dean's instincts pricked up. "Cas?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. But I think it was for the best that I was here, working on this." Cas said diffidently. Dean stared at him.

"Well, OK. Look, someone gave me this. Sam was worried it might be cursed or whatever. Do you want to take a look at it?" He pulled the wooden token out of his pocket and handed it to Cas. The angel examined it closely.

"Interesting," he said. "It's Irish. Made of yew. It's quite old. Maybe third century." He turned it over in his hands. "It's an offering."

"Is it a coin?" Dean asked. Cas shook his head.

"Not exactly, it's made of wood after all."

"I don't know, maybe people had wooden coins in olden times!" Dean defended. Cas grinned at him.

"No. Coins were made of valuable things, metals mostly. Even in 'olden times'," he laughed. "This is a symbolic offering. I'd say for…" the angel broke off, his cheeks reddening. "Sex." Dean choked and Cas blinked at him.

"Are you saying it's some sort of fertility token?" he gasped. Cas narrowed his eyes.

"No. This has nothing to do with fecundity. More like a uh…" Cas swallowed. "A lovers ritual to enhance sexual pleasure."

"Huh," Dean said. "I guess that didn't work out so well for her."

"Her?" Cas said mildly, although he seemed strained.

"What? Oh, just the chick who gave me this. Said I might need it one day." Dean said easily, desperate to ignore the sudden tension in the room.

"I see," Cas said evenly. Dean felt like the temperature in the room had dropped by twenty degrees.

"It wasn't anything," he said defensively, wondering why he felt the need to explain himself. "She gave it to me to convince me to stop by the mead stall at the fair. That's all."

"I rather doubt that," Cas said tightly. Dean huffed out a breath.

"Look, hold onto it if you're worried," he said. "I don't care." The angel seemed mollified by this and tucked it into a pocket.

"So, anyway," Dean said, changing the subject. "Astrid and the spear. She took it away with her. I'd like to say I'm sorry, but after Sam nearly skewered me with it, I wasn't sorry to let it go."

"It's strange," Cas commented after a moment's thought. "The spear of Diomedes has a lot of lore about it. But nothing mentions any of the things you and Sam encountered. I wonder…"

"What?" Dean demanded. "What is it?"

"I wonder if it is the spear of Diomedes at all." Cas admitted.

"It was found in Greece. And it did gank Até."

"That's true. But still, it's odd. It reminds me of something else." The angel gazed at Dean. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I guess I'm ready to hit the sack. See you in the morning." Dean said and ambled off to bed. The angel watched him go.

* * *

Sam liked being up first. Of course, when you lived with an angel who literally didn't sleep, up first was relative. But wandering into the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee, toasting a bagel, simple comforting rituals in a life with far too few comforts were to be cherished. He sipped appreciatively at his mug, this Guatemalan blend that had been on special offer at the grocery store was really good.

Sam wasn't given much to might have beens. His life might have been different to this, he'd tried so hard and for so long to be normal. But he'd accepted years ago that normal simply wasn't on the cards. Still, he yearned for something more. Casual hookups in the back of the Impala or in sleazy motels were all very well. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to be with. It wasn't about sex, it was about companionship, love even. Not that Sam considered himself very lovable. The idea of sustaining a relationship with the life he led seemed laughable. He was jerked out of his reverie by the appearance of his brother.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said blearily.

"Morning," Sam replied. "I got another case for us." Dean arched an eyebrow at him.

"Already? You're keen." Sam looked down at the floor. "You OK, Sam?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason," Dean said easily. "Just thought you might wanna chill for a day or two before heading out again."

"I… I just came across something that caught my eye. I'd like to check it out. I can go on my own, see if it's really our sort of thing first if you want?" Sam offered. Dean eyed him carefully.

"Tell me about it first," he decided. Sam smiled.

"OK, so there's been this rumor about a serial killer for years. The Trio Killer. Lots of websites online dedicated to him. The killings are always the same, three young men around college age. One is drowned, one is hanged and the third is decapitated. Officially the FBI say he doesn't exist, that people have linked unrelated cases together." Dean held up a hand.

"Seriously, Sam? Your weird-ass hobby again?" Sam coughed.

"No. Look, yeah, I've been following it for a long time, sure. But I got something now which I think makes it one of ours. The Trio Killer's been quiet for about five years. Nobody knows why. Until now, a set of three deaths in Knoxville, Tennessee." Dean folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm still not seeing how this makes it one of ours," he said impatiently.

"Hold on, I'm getting there." Sam told him. "Reed Malone Blake, twenty-one years old. Senior at University of Tennessee in Knoxville. At a house party of a friend, drowns in the bathtub. Nobody knows why he was in there. His best friend, Hugh Nelson is in a wreck just two hours later driving home from the hospital where they'd taken Blake. Local PD called it a freak accident, he leaves the highway and flips the car, ends up hanged by his own seatbelt." Dean grimaced at that. "Then, finally Lon Hilary Brock pops out for a cigarette and is decapitated by a sheet of steel that blew off the construction site of the new hospital wing."

"How is that even possible?" Dean demanded. Sam shrugged.

"No idea. But you see how it fits the pattern, yet these are not murders, except maybe the first death."

"It all sounds a bit Final Destination to me," Dean pointed out grumpily.

"Exactly! That's the thing, when stuff like this happens how often is it just a coincidence?" Sam asked triumphantly.

"OK, so what's your theory?" Dean said finally, unwilling to admit he was interested but unable to resist.

"What if the reason the Trio Killer stopped five years ago is because he died? And now he's killing again?" Dean shook his head.

"No dice, Sammy. He dies and then just what, hangs out for five years before killing again?" Dean objected.

"Well, we know that it takes time to learn how to manipulate stuff, right. And maybe he didn't die five years ago, but was sick or injured and then died. Add in a little time to get the hang of the whole ghost trick, and then start up again exactly where he left off." Dean sighed.

"Yeah, OK. I guess that could make sense. If it is a ghost though, how is he able to affect three people in three separate locations? I mean, if he's linked to an object, how did it go from the house, to the kid's car to the hospital?" Sam's shoulders slumped.

"I haven't figured that out yet. Maybe the timeline's wrong." Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"OK, fine. Let me go talk to Cas and then we'll hit the road." Sam grinned at his brother.

"Yeah, good. I'll go load up the car."


	7. Chapter Six

Dean looked down at the soul bound to the rack next to him, a young woman with long blonde hair and an expression so innocent that once he would have doubted his purpose or the justification for her being sent to Hell. He knew better now, Alastair had explained it all very carefully. _You cannot trust the look of innocence,_ he'd said. _Even the most wicked of sinners looks innocent and horrified when presented with the reality of their eternity in Hell._ Dean surveyed the instruments of torture arrayed on the table by the rack. A particularly nasty looking flensing knife caught his eye, a tool that had worked so well on the last soul he'd abused. He gave a slow, lazy smile and turned back to the young woman, who struggled against the hooks and shackles that bound her.

"No…" she whispered. "Please, God. No."

"You know," Dean said in a conversational tone. "You brought this on yourself."

"You don't know that," she sobbed. "You're wrong." Dean sighed, they always denied it at first.

"See, if you didn't deserve it, why are you here?" he asked simply. She shook her head.

"What's your name?" she asked softly. Dean blinked in surprise.

"Dean Winchester," he blurted out, then cursed himself for revealing information about himself. _Never answer their questions,_ Alastair had told him. _Not knowing what's going on or why or who's doing this to them adds extra spice._

"Did you deserve this?" the woman asked, her eyes steadily regarding him. Dean took a deep breath and ignored her, testing the blade of the knife against his thumb.

"It's a little blunt," he told her. "Which means it will hurt more." She turned her head away and he shrugged. Conversation was getting boring anyway.

 _Dean._

Dean looked around, that voice hadn't come from the soul on the rack and it didn't have the metallic slither of Alastair or the gruff grunts of the lesser demons who transported the souls to him and took them away.

 _Dean, it's Cas. You're dreaming._

Dean blinked. Cas was here?

 _It's a dream. Come find me. Someplace else, somewhere better._

He turned around and found he was leaning against the Impala, parked by the side of an unknown road. Cas was propped against the fender, watching the stars. Dean inhaled a shaky breath and slumped against the car.

"Hello, Dean." Cas said. Dean tried to speak and choked. "It's all right, Dean. It was just a nightmare. I'm here. You're safe." Dean nodded, not trusting himself not to burst into tears if he tried to reply. Cas laid one hand on his arm and Dean gave him a watery angel watched him, blue eyes sad and concerned.

"How many times has it been now?" Dean forced out and Cas gave a sigh, rubbing his hand up and down Dean's arm in a comforting fashion.

"I'm not sure," he replied.

"Liar," Dean said without heat. Cas' lips quirked into a half smile.

"Four hundred and seventy three."

"Awesome," Dean commented. "I'm turning into a headcase."

"You've been through a lot," Cas said seriously. "If you were anyone else, you'd have been committed long ago."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Dean said, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Perhaps," Cas said. "I'm here for you no matter what. I will always be here for you, Dean." He wanted to cry, definitely. Dammit. But this was a dream and who would know? He leaned forward, pulling Cas towards him and let the tears fall into the angel's shoulder.

* * *

Dean found Cas in the library, working on the translation of another book he'd bought on Ebay. Dean wondered if he needed to restrict the angel's internet privileges. This was the third book in as many weeks and they had all been quite expensive.

"Hey, Cas," he said and tried to ignore the warm feeling in his chest when the angel looked up and smiled broadly at him.

"Hello, Dean," Cas rumbled.

"So, Sam and I are going to check out a possible case in Tennessee. It's probably nothing, another one of Sam's serial killer cases, but until we get a lead on Amara, I figure it's worth checking out." Cas gazed at him for a moment.

"Do you want me to come along?" he asked finally. Dean blinked.

"Uh, sure. OK. If you want. You've been holed up here for a while, it might be good to get you back in the saddle," the hunter said diffidently. Cas nodded and closed the book in front of him.

"What are you looking for anyway?" Dean asked with a pointed look at the book. Cas looked away, as if embarrassed and Dean frowned.

"It's nothing. A possible way to fight the Darkness, if we find her. But I'm not getting very far," the angel said softly. Dean's frown got deeper, _why would that be embarrassing?_

"OK," he said. "Sounds good. Except for the not getting anywhere part." _Real smooth, Winchester._

"When are we leaving?" Cas was asking, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Soon, Sam's loading up the car now." Cas stood up and walked purposefully towards the door, and Dean thought he would just sweep straight past him, but when the angel got close he stopped.

"Have you had any lasting side effects from your last case?" Cas demanded suddenly. Dean stared at him.

"No," he replied, puzzled. "I was a bit tired when we got back, but a solid night's sleep sorted me out. Sam's a bit edgy but I think he's just itching to get after Amara too." Cas nodded and stared intently at Dean. The hunter shifted uncomfortably under the angel's scrutiny.

"No desire to go back to Pennsylvania?" Cas asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

"None," he declared. "Why?" The angel stepped back.

"No reason," he began and Dean grabbed his arm.

"Don't lie to me, Cas. One, you suck at it and two, it pisses me off. Why would I want to go back to Pennsylvania?" Cas glared at him.

"The offering you were given," he explained. "When activated, whoever is given the token should feel a strong yearning to be with the person whose blood has been used to activate it. So I assumed the woman who gave this to you activated it with her blood. But if you're not feeling any urge to return to where she is, then perhaps she chose another target. Have you had any unusual feelings, strange desires or curious dreams?" Dean's throat began to close in panic.

"No!" he denied emphatically. "Nothing like that. Maybe she didn't activate it at all."

"Then why give it to you?" Cas objected. "What would be the point?"

"OK, well maybe she screwed it up. I don't know. Why are you so worried?" Dean asked irritably.

"This is powerful magic. Old and unpredictable. These tokens are quite valuable," Cas told him.

"How valuable?" Dean asked. Cas' mouth twisted.

"At a guess, you could probably buy a new car with the proceeds of selling it." Dean gaped at him.

"Wash your mouth out!" he joked. Then his eyes narrowed. "What kind of car?"

* * *

Dean tapped happily on the steering wheel as Metallica boomed out of the speakers. Sam stared out of the window and watched the world whizz by. Cas had brought some books with him and was working on his translation, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Not that Dean was watching him in the rearview mirror. Suddenly Cas slammed the book closed with a muttered oath and Sam jumped.

"Hey, Cas?" he asked. "Are you OK?"

"Yes," the angel declared. "No." He waved a hand vaguely at his books and Sam nodded in sympathy. "I feel like I'm wasting my time."

"What are you looking for anyway?" Sam twisted around in his seat to look at Cas and the angel sighed.

"There's an old story, from long before the first humans were placed on the earth. Before Lucifer's Fall. Not long after defeating the Darkness, Lucifer and Michael were tasked with creating a record of how they defeated Amara, Metatron was supposed to inscribe the information in a tablet. Like the angel and demon tablets. But there are very few references to it. The last definitive account anyone has of it was that the Knights Templar had it. But that order was disbanded in 1312 and nobody knows what happened to the many treasures and relics they had discovered. The Vatican took possession of many, but there are a number which were never found and this tablet was one of them." The angel tapped the cover of one of his books.

"This is an account of a Knight who escaped persecution and made his way through France to England. He told his story to a monk, Thomas, who met him on the road, and Thomas wrote of his encounter in his journal. This Knight, who called himself Jack, told Thomas that he carried a tablet of the most terrible knowledge in creation. Until recently, I had believed the tablet he carried was the demon tablet. Or perhaps the angel tablet, depending on your definition of terrible." Cas gave a self-deprecating grin. "But I began to wonder if perhaps it had been the Darkness tablet instead. So I've been trying to follow a trail that is seven hundred years old, at a time when literacy was rare. And I am not getting very far. Thomas met 'Jack' in the northwest of England. There is a Templar site there at Temple Sowerby, so perhaps that is where he was heading. But he could also have been travelling to Scotland, where there are also a number of Templar sites." Cas frowned. "Thomas doesn't say where he was going, and perhaps 'Jack' did not want to say, since Templars had been declared heretics and their leaders burned to death."

"You think this tablet will help us defeat Amara?" Dean interjected. Cas nodded.

"Yes, that is my hope. So little is known about what happened, neither Michael nor Lucifer would speak of it. I don't know if they were forbidden to discuss it or if it had been so awful they simply didn't want to."

"Lucifer wasn't exactly the poster boy for following orders," Sam pointed out. "But it's hard to imagine what could be so awful that he wouldn't talk about it either."

* * *

Dean rapped smartly on the door of a small, rundown house and dug his FBI credentials out of his pocket. The door opened a crack and the mussed brown hair and reddened blue eyes of a young man appeared in the gap.

"Kyle Leonard? Special Agent Anderson, with Special Agents Howe and Wakeman," Dean announced.

"FBI? Uh. You're here about Reed."

"Yeah. Can we come in?" The door closed and Dean swore under his breath. He lifted his hand to hammer on the door again but it suddenly was thrown open.

"Sorry, I had to undo the chain," Kyle explained. He was wearing torn, filthy jeans and a purple t-shirt with a fading logo on the front. He ushered the three of them into a small, untidy living room and slumped down on a sagging brown couch. There was a thick yellow comforter on the floor and a matching pillow slung onto a rickety looking coffee table; it seemed Kyle had been sleeping in here.

"I already told the cops everything I know," Kyle said tiredly. "What else can I say?"

"Why don't you just tell the whole story again, in your own words?" Sam suggested. "We'd prefer to hear it straight from you."

"OK," Kyle said doubtfully. "Reed and I have been friends since third grade. I was hosting a party here to celebrate Meghan's birthday. That's my girlfriend. Was my girlfriend, I don't know where we stand after… Reed came down the day before to help me out. So, he went out to pick up some more ice and I didn't notice when he came back, I was busy. Meghan went up to use the bathroom at about 9:30, and she found him lying in the tub, underwater. Meghan's pre-med and she knows CPR, so she tried to revive him. I called 911. She was able to get him breathing again and the ambulance showed up soon after that. Hugh Nelson was one of Reed's friends from UT, I didn't know him that well but he seemed OK. He took me, Meghan and Reed's roommate, Lon Brock, in his car to the hospital. We waited in the waiting room for a while and then Hugh said he had to leave because he had an early morning lecture to attend. We didn't want to leave Reed so we let him go without us. Lon went outside with him, saying he needed a smoke. We never saw either of them again. Kyle's heart stopped in the ICU and they couldn't-" Kyle broke off with a sob. "We only heard what happened to Lon and Hugh on the news the next day."

"OK," Sam said sympathetically. "So, go back to the party, before Meghan found Reed. You say he went out for ice?"

"Yeah, he said he was going to Scepter Gas on West Magnolia. He definitely got the ice because I saw it in the freezer. I just didn't see him." Kyle's shoulders hunched and he pulled out his phone, pulling up a contact and writing it on the back of an open envelope. "This is Meghan's number, if you want to speak to her." Sam accepted it with a faint smile and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Cas had suddenly whipped around to stare out of the window.

"So did Reed say he was going to take a shower or anything?" Dean asked. Kyle shook his head.

"No. Not before he went out. And anyway, the water in the tub was cold. Who bathes in cold water?" Kyle's face twisted. "Someone did this to him. I'm sure of it. But everyone at the party was a friend. Reed was a good guy, so why would anyone want to hurt him?"

"OK, one more question. Did you notice anything strange at the party?" Dean watched Kyle closely and the kid squirmed.

"Strange?" he asked.

"Odd noises, strange smells, temperature fluctuations. Anything that struck you as odd." Dean explained.

"Uh, I don't think so. Except, the lights kept flickering. That was a bit strange. I mean, the power goes out all the time when we get storms. But it was clear, if a bit cold. Nothing unusual for this time of year." As Kyle said this, Cas suddenly threw open the door and dashed across the street. Sam and Dean stared as he ran up to a man stood opposite the house. They seemed to be involved in a heated discussion.

"Right," Dean said awkwardly. "Well, don't leave town without letting us know. We might have more questions." He turned to leave and Sam went to follow him out the door.

"Kyle, can you give us a list of everyone who was there that night?" he asked. Kyle nodded and scribbled a list of names on the other side of the envelope with Meghan's number.

* * *

The man Cas was arguing with was tall, almost as tall as Sam, with a shock of curly reddish-blond hair and delicate features. He was dressed in tailored slacks and a green silk button-down shirt. As he noticed Sam and Dean approaching, the man gave an elegant bow.

"The Winchester brothers," he said. "I've heard so much about you." He glanced over Dean but gave Sam a long, lingering look. His eyes were bright green, unlike any Sam had seen before. "It's seems he wasn't exaggerating, for once."

"You need to leave," Cas said firmly and the stranger gave a broad smile that made Sam feel warm and shivery. This man was very attractive and dammit if he didn't know it. He patted Cas' cheek and Sam felt Dean stiffen beside him. The next moment, he was gone.

"Who the Hell was that?" Dean demanded. "I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Heaven anymore!" The angel looked troubled.

"He's not an angel," Cas stated shortly. When he didn't elaborate further, Dean's mouth tightened.

"Then who was he? And what does he want?"

"He's nobody. Don't worry about him." Cas deflected.

"Oh, so this nobody, who you run out into the street to talk to, who you apparently gossip with, he's nobody to worry about?" Dean growled and grabbed the angel by the arm. Cas shrugged him off with an irritated look.

"I don't gossip with the likes of him," he said contemptuously. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"So who _has_ he heard so much about us from?"

"Someone else," Cas said unhelpfully. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you being like this?" he asked. "Why won't you tell us who he is, what he wants, who he heard about us from? Will you at least tell us if he's a threat?"

"He's dangerous. His kind don't often interfere with humans but I'd prefer not to take chances," Cas sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. It made him look very human, Dean thought and tried to ignore the curious sensation in his stomach.

"Fine, then let's gank the son of a bitch!" he demanded. Cas' gaped at him in alarm.

"No! You can't. Just ignore him and he'll get bored and move on to something else." Dean grabbed the angel's arm again and tried unsuccessfully to shove him backwards.

"Why can't we? Why are you protecting him?" he roared, pushing his face up close to Cas'. The angel looked puzzled.

"I'm not protecting him," he said uncertainly, an uncharacteristic quivery note in his voice. "I'm protecting you. I told you, he's dangerous and powerful. When I say you can't kill him, I mean it's not possible. Please. Just leave him alone." Cas' eyes glittered and Dean swallowed at the vulnerable look on his face. Uncomfortable, he let go and stepped back out of the angel's personal space. Sam cleared his throat.

"So, shall we track down Kyle's girlfriend, Meghan?" he asked. Dean nodded.

"Yeah. And the other party guests too. Maybe we should split up, there's almost twenty names on this list." Dean eyed the tiny house skeptically.

"Twenty? Must have been a squeeze. OK, gimme the list. Cas and I'll take these ten," he ripped the list in two and handed one half back to Sam. "You find Meghan, and then start working on the rest of them." Sam thought about objecting, surely a three-way split would be better. Then he was struck by a vision of Cas questioning someone on his own and thought better of it. He pulled out his phone and dialed Meghan's number as Dean and Cas headed back to the car.

* * *

Meghan's phone went straight to voicemail, so Sam left a short message and looked at the first name on his list, Dylan Meave. A quick search of the university's website revealed that Dylan was a graduate student in the Biology department. Sam checked his watch, it was a little after 4pm. He pulled up a map of the campus on his phone to find the lab Dylan worked in and then set off walking.

The Hesler building was an old-fashioned looking red brick building with stone lintels and black iron guttering. It took Sam several minutes to locate the correct lab and when he tapped at the door, the young Asian woman who opened it looked at him suspiciously.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "You're not a student, not dressed like that." Sam flashed his FBI credentials and her face cleared.

"Oh, you're here because of Reed. Dylan and I were both there at the party," she told him. "I'm Yi Chin." Sam remembered her name was under Dylan's on his list.

"Is Dylan here? I might as well talk to both of you together," Sam said pleasantly as he looked around.

"He'll be back momentarily," Yi said. "He just went to get some more loading buffer for these samples." She pointed to a rack of tiny tubes, some of which were half-filled with a blue liquid and others contained a smaller volume of clear fluid.

"What are you working on?" Sam asked curiously. She grinned at him.

"We're trying to find genetic mutations in wild strains of tomatoes that are resistant to tobacco mosaic virus." Sam crinkled his forehead.

"Tomatoes get a tobacco disease?" he asked.

"Yes. And peppers, cucumbers, lots of ornamental flowers too. It's a big problem in the farming industry because infected plants have stunted growth and lower yields." The lab door opened and a stocky young man in a lab coat strode in clutching a small tube of blue liquid triumphantly.

"Ha! I liberated some from Evaline!" he declared.

"Don't you mean borrowed?" Yi said sternly with a meaningful tilt of her head towards Sam. Sam pulled out his FBI credentials again and Dylan frowned.

"You're here about Reed?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"I dunno what I can tell you, man. I never even saw him," Dylan said defensively and Yi nudged him. He glanced at her.

"I'm only interested in his death," Sam said carefully. "Any other activities are not of interest to the Bureau."

"OK," Dylan said slowly. "Maybe I did see him. I was outside, um, gettin' some fresh air. He had a big bag of ice. I said hello." He looked furtive and Sam despaired of getting a straight answer out of him. Yi glared at him and then folded her arms.

"Sorry, Agent. Dylan's not being very helpful, is he? Tell him what he said, Dylan." Dylan looked away.

"Did you know Meghan and Reed dated before she hooked up with Kyle?" Dylan asked and Sam shook his head. "He's been trying to come between them every since. I don't know if he wanted her back or just didn't want her to be with Kyle. He was rambling on about the power of thought and how you could get what you want just by wishing it really hard," he whispered. "There was a lot of crap about the occult and I told him I didn't want anything to do with it. But that was Reed, everyone thinks he's a fun guy but he could be a real asshole, especially to Kyle. I never understood why they were still friends."

"On Kyle's birthday last year, he cut the brake lines on his car. Kyle nearly died when he couldn't stop at a red light and narrowly missed getting t-boned by a minivan." Yi added, her mouth pursed angrily. Sam stared at her in shock.

"Did Kyle tell the police?" She shook her head in vexation, strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail.

"No. Kyle said it was just Reed messing around, that he didn't realize how dangerous it was. But come on, he's not a kid! He knew damn well what he was doing."

"Do you think he intended to kill Kyle?" Sam asked her, watching them both closely.

"No!" Dylan exclaimed immediately, but his face was pale.

"Maybe," Yi mused. "Reed and Kyle's friendship is kinda weird." She looked uncomfortable and corrected herself. "Was kinda weird. Uh." She eyed Sam as if assessing him for a moment. "Reed has everything, his family are quite wealthy and he's smart and popular. Kyle's quiet and nerdy and his family have no money. When Meghan and Kyle started dating, Reed went nuts. I mean, really crazy. Even though she dumped his ass six months before she started dating Kyle. It wasn't like she cheated on him or even ditched him for Kyle. But it didn't matter to Reed. He didn't speak to Kyle for weeks and then there was the car incident. I think he managed to shock himself because he made up with Kyle after that. But talk to Meghan, she'll tell you a lot more stories about Reed."

"Yiyi!" Dylan said, tugging urgently at her sleeve. "Do you really think this is relevant? Reed's the one who's dead!" She rolled her eyes at him.

"They need to know what kind of guy Reed really was. That's the only way they catch his killer." Yi told him.

"You watch too much TV," Dylan said, sullenly. Sam held out his hand.

"No, she's right. Thank you both for talking to me." Dylan gave him a half-hearted shake and then picked up the pipette on the bench with a dismissive look. Yi patted him on the shoulder and then shook Sam's hand decisively.

"I want to join the FBI after I graduate," she said suddenly. Sam smiled at her.

"I hope you do," he said.


	8. Chapter Seven

Dean and Cas struck out looking for the first few names on their list. Two students had gone home to visit family and the third was an army reservist who was at her monthly training and service.

"We should check out the local bars," Dean decided and Cas' shoulders stiffened.

"Shouldn't we try to find at least one student who was at that party before we do that?" he asked. Dean glared at him.

"Are you accusing me of slacking off?" he asked incredulously. "I'm just sayin' that at this time, on a Friday night, most of them are probably out drinking. Come on." He dragged the angel towards the nearest bar, Cool Beans.

"Strange name," Cas observed sourly. Dean laughed at him. The inside was a typical sports bar, and quite busy. Dean spotted a morose young African-American man talking to the bartender and nudged Cas.

"That's where we need to start," he said and squeezed through the crowd to stand beside him.

"Hey," Dean said. The student looked up with a snarl.

"Fuck off," he growled. Dean looked down his nose at him and shoved his ID in his face.

"Special Agent Anderson, this is Special Agent Wakeman." The young man's face fell.

"Uh. Sorry, man. It's been a bad week. What do you want?"

"What's your name?" Dean asked him.

"Shaun Jacobs."

"Do you know about what happened to Reed Blake?" Dean noticed Cas scanning the bar as he spoke. Had he seen that guy again?

"Uh, yeah. I mean, everyone knows. It was on TV." Shaun said, twitching nervously.

"And did you know him?" Dean pressed. Shaun looked around before leaning forward.

"Yeah. And he was an asshole. But you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, I guess."

"Kyle Leonard said Reed was a great guy, that nobody would have any reason to kill him. But you say he was an asshole." Dean folded his arms and stared at Shaun.

"Reed was a sociopath. You know, superficially charming but fundamentally lacking in empathy."

"Psych major?" Dean asked him. Shaun nodded.

"It's that obvious?" He bit his lip. "Look, OK. I was at the party. There were a lot of people in the house that night. I never saw anyone go upstairs other than Reed." Dean straightened.

"You saw him go upstairs to the bathroom?" he said. "What time was that?"

"I dunno, 8pm maybe. I got there around 7:30, it was about half an hour after I arrived." Dean gripped Shaun's shoulder.

"You're certain about the time?" he asked urgently and Shaun gulped.

"Not exactly. It could have been five or ten minutes either way. But no more than that."

"Kyle told us Meghan found Reed at 9:30pm," Dean said. "It's important that we get this timeline right." Shaun shifted uncomfortably.

"He can't have been in that tub for an hour and a half," Shaun said. "Meghan was able to get him breathing again. She couldn't have done that if he'd been dead for that long."

"He's right," Cas observed, still warily scanning the crowd. "Humans can't be revived after so long without oxygen, the brain damage is quite irrevocable by that point." Shaun gave him a curious look.

"You were there when she found him?" Dean asked. Shaun shook his head.

"No. Kyle kicked everyone out at 9, said he had a test the next day. So why he was hosting a party, I've no idea."

"OK," Dean said, giving Shaun a slight smile. "Thanks. You've been very helpful."

"You should really talk to Meghan," Shaun told him. "But good luck with that." Dean frowned at him.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Are you kidding? She killed Reed. It's obvious. She's probably halfway to Mexico by now."

* * *

Nobody else on Sam's list had anything useful to add to Dylan and Yi's account. He tried Meghan's cell again but hung up when it went straight to voicemail. He looked around to see the tall man Cas had been talking to, leaning nonchalantly against a tree. Sam's mouth twisted for a moment and then strode over.

"Are you following me?" he asked angrily.

"What if I was?" the man replied coyly. "What would you do about it?" Sam ignored the question.

"What do you want?"

"Me? Nothing. Not right now. I was just… curious. I told you, I'd heard a lot about you." His voice was deep and smooth, with a soft Irish lilt. Sam's fists clenched.

"Not from Cas. So who was it who told you about me. About us." The man smiled, and Sam felt a tingling feeling in his chest. He swallowed.

"A mutual friend," he said easily. "I have a proposition for you." He looked Sam slowly up and down, and Sam's mouth went dry. There was no question that this man, or whatever he was, was flirting with him.

"I'm not interested," Sam said. He wished he sounded like he meant it.

"You don't even know what it is yet," the man said reasonably and Sam found himself feeling guilty for being so rude. "It's a small favor. Tiny. And I'll owe you." His gaze was openly admiring now and Sam had to remind himself to breathe.

"I suppose it can't hurt to listen," he said despite himself. Cas was going to be pissed that he was even speaking to him. "Who are you?"

"Call me… Lucien," the man said. "It's not my name, but it will do. What I want is very simple. I want you to leave. Drop this case, and take your brother and the angel far away from here."

"Why?" Sam demanded. "What is it to you?" Lucien gave a careless gesture.

"You're in my way." Lucien slid his fingers into the top buttons of his shirt and they parted easily at his touch, exposing the skin of his neck and collar. Sam felt dizzy. This man was trying to seduce him, and Sam wasn't sure he didn't want to be seduced.

"I… What are you? Cas said you weren't an angel," he said breathlessly. Lucien gave a bark of derisive laughter.

"No, I'm not. Does it matter?" Two more buttons gave way and Sam could see the sprinkling of reddish hair on Lucien's chest. _Oh, God._

"Look, I uh, would like to help you," Sam managed, fighting against the steady pulse of attraction that was draining the blood from his brain. "But I won't be able to stop Dean or Cas if they're determined." Lucien gave him a sultry look and Sam had to resist the urge to just fall to his knees in front of this beautiful, incredible creature.

"Sam," he said in a disappointed tone. "I really bear no ill will towards any of you. But I am not used to being thwarted." Sam clenched his fists tightly, focusing on the pain of his nails digging into his palms. The desire to submit to Lucien's demands was now so strong, he couldn't withstand it any longer. Suddenly, Cas was standing right next to him, one hand on his shoulder and Sam wasn't sure if he was relieved or annoyed.

"Castiel," Lucien said smoothly. "I was just introducing myself to Sam. I told him to call me Lucien." Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"He's not for you," the angel told him. "He's off-limits, as you know all too well." Lucien huffed in irritation.

"I do as I please," he said angrily. "Your brother doesn't get to tell me what to do. And neither do you. Leave this place. I have the matter well in hand." Dean appeared at Cas' shoulder.

"We don't take orders from monsters," he said gruffly. Sam sucked in a breath as Lucien's eyes flashed.

"You have no idea what I am." He grabbed Sam and pulled him in close to his body, slanting his mouth over the hunter's and kissing him with a fiery passion that set all of Sam's senses alight.

Sam groaned and parted his lips beneath Lucien's, their tongues entwining in a sensuous rhythm.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and Cas grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him away from Lucien. Sam staggered backwards, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and staring at Lucien with shock and undisguised desire. Lucien gave him a wicked grin and then glared at Cas.

"I will not ask again. Leave this alone." He vanished and Dean let out an explosive breath.

"Jesus, Sammy. What is it with you? Why did you let him kiss you like that?" he cried. Sam couldn't look at him.

"Don't be too hard on Sam," Cas defended. "Lucien was using his influence on him. He can be very persuasive."

"So what does he want?" Dean asked and Cas sighed.

"I don't know. Lucien's motives are always hard to fathom."

"Funny thing is, until now I wasn't even convinced this was our thing. But this guy showing up and trying to get us to leave, changed my mind," Dean stated. Sam looked at him in surprise.

He checked his watch. "Let's go get something to eat and compare notes."

* * *

The diner was quiet, not close enough to the university campus to attract student business. Two waitresses, who looked so similar Sam wondered if they were twins, slouched around the few customers. Dean gave Sam a wink.

"Twins, Sam." Sam rolled his eyes.

"What'll it be?" the waitress asked. Her name-tag said Kayla.

"Coffee, and the cheeseburger, with fries and onion rings." Dean told her with a flirtatious smile.

She ignored him as she wrote down his order and coolly turned her attention to Sam.

"I'll have coffee too, and the Greek salad with grilled chicken." She nodded at him and made notes then moved her gaze to Cas.

"I'm fine," Cas told her. She shrugged.

"Let me know if you change your mind," she said, gracing the angel with a twinkling smile. Dean gave her a hard stare as she sauntered away.

"OK, what have we got?" Sam asked, hiding his amusement. Dean described his conversation with Shaun in the bar and Sam filled his brother and Cas in on what he'd learned in the biology lab.

"I figured it was a prank gone wrong," Sam said. "But it doesn't explain what happened to Hugh and Lon. Maybe it's just a stupid coincidence." Dean narrowed his eyes.

"That's it? You're ready to throw in the towel on this one?" Sam shrugged.

"Not every lead pans out, right?" Dean looked at Cas.

"Sam, do you feel like you need to leave this place? Like you're being pushed away?" Cas asked urgently.

"No!" Sam said immediately. "I really don't think there's anything here."

"I see," the angel said. "Dean?"

"Hell, no!" Dean exclaimed. "This stinks. Come on, Sam. You were the one who was so desperate to check this out. This Lucien asshole tells you to leave and you're just gonna do it?" The waitress came over with their coffee and tossed a number of little containers of cream on the table.

"You're G-men?" she asked. Dean gave her a somber look.

"Yeah. We're investigating the deaths of three students from the university." Her eyes went round.

"My roommate's boyfriend's a nurse, he was working in the ER that night," she said. "He says the whole deal was hella suspicious." Dean straightened and exchanged a glance with Sam.

"What do you mean?" he asked. She cocked a hand on one hip.

"I don't know. I'm not a doctor. All I know is, he said that they were all lying about what had happened. That nothing they said made sense." She scribbled a number on her notepad and handed it to Cas. "Talk to Mike, he'll explain." The angel accepted the paper warily and jumped when her fingers brushed his. Dean's mouth tightened and Sam bit the inside of his cheek to prevent a smile as Kayla shuffled away. Dean snatched the number out of Cas' hand, the angel giving him a startled look. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. Sam listened to his short conversation and when Dean hung up his eyes were bright.

"He's coming here to talk to us," Dean told them and Sam sighed.

"Does he really have anything to say?" he asked and Dean glared at him.

"It's a lead, Sam." he insisted. Kayla brought over their food and a few minutes later a short, Hispanic man dressed in surgical scrubs entered the diner and joined them in their booth.

"You must be the FBI," he laughed. "You're the only ones here in suits." Dean gave him a solemn nod. "I'm Miguel Macias. But everyone calls me Mike. I've been a nurse for fifteen years."

"Our waitress told us you were on duty the night Reed Blake, Hugh Nelson and Lon Brock died."

Sam said and Mike nodded.

"Yeah. It was a slow night, for a Friday. Couple DUI's, some kids with fevers, an old lady who fell and broke her hip. That's it. Until the ambulance brought Reed Blake in. His friends claimed he'd drowned in the tub, but that they'd revived him and called the ambulance. But there's no way what they're saying can be true. They said they found him at 9pm but they didn't call the ambulance for half an hour. The girlfriend, I think her name was Maggie, was pre-med and she knew what they were saying was nonsense. I could see it in her eyes."

"Was her name perhaps Meghan?" Sam prompted. Mike nodded.

"Yeah, that's right. Meghan, not Maggie. Anyway, there were other strange things. We couldn't intubate him, no matter what we did. It was bizarre. His pulse was thready and we were losing him, but his blood pressure was sky-rocketing. He bit one of the nurses on the hand, and started frothing at the mouth like he had rabies or something. Then, all of a sudden he slips into a coma. His pulse and breathing stabilize, and we get him hooked up in ICU.

"An hour later, it happens again. I figure it's some kind of seizure, and might not be related to the drowning. I asked his friends if he was epileptic or diabetic or something like that, but they denied it. The third time he seizes, we tried everything, but we couldn't save him." Mike shook his head.

"Do you have any idea what happened?" Dean asked. Mike shrugged.

"Best I can figure, the kid had some neurological condition that nobody knew about. Something triggered it and it killed him. The official cause of death was recorded as secondary death by drowning. But the pathologist told me if he hadn't known about the drowning, he'd never have guessed. There was no water in the lungs. Blake's father is on the board of trustees for the hospital and I think there was some pressure to wrap this up neatly."

"Wouldn't his father have an interest in finding out how his son died?" Sam asked. Mike gave a humorless laugh.

"Malone Blake is a cold son of a bitch. He'd be far more worried about being embarrassed than caring about another human being, even his own son. Maybe he thought it was a drug overdose and just wanted it all hushed up."

" _Could_ it have been a drug overdose?" Dean asked. Mike shrugged.

"Maybe. His tox screen was negative, but that doesn't mean anything. Those tox panels only screen for the common things. Heroin, cocaine, meth. That kind of thing. If this was something exotic that the screens weren't designed to detect it could slip through."

"You mean like peyote?" Sam asked. Mike shook his head.

"Nah, we can detect that. I mean _really_ exotic, like not usually seen in the US. There are some plants from Asia for example, that are so rarely used here they're not routinely screened for. Something like that could have caused a bad reaction. It's the only explanation I can come up with."

"What about Lon Brock and Hugh Nelson?" Dean asked. Mike shuddered and his face became drawn.

"Lon Brock was in a car wreck, hanged by his own seatbelt. You knew that? The fire department had to cut him out of his vehicle. He was pronounced at the scene, so I never saw him. And the kid who got decapitated, ugh. Again, already dead so they took him straight to the morgue." Sam offered his hand.

"Thank you, Mike," he said. "You've been a big help." Mike shook all of their hands and got up to leave.

"The only other thing I can tell you which is a little odd is this. The rumor going around the hospital is that they all died at almost exactly the same time. Just a spooky coincidence, no doubt. But it creeps me out."

* * *

Back at the motel, Dean lounged on his bed sucking on a beer and watching Sam pace up and down. He frowned to himself, Sam was really agitated and there really wasn't any reason for him to be.

"It's still really thin, Dean," Sam insisted. "Maybe Mike's right, this was some kids experimenting with some exotic drug. Reed Blake has a bad trip and it kills him. Hugh was high too, and it caused him to crash."

"And the other guy, y'know, the one who got his head chopped off in a freak accident?" Dean argued. Sam rolled his shoulders in irritation.

"Maybe it really was just that, a freak accident. They do happen." he said reasonably. "Why are you so determined to make this our thing?"

"Why are you so determined to make it not our thing?" Dean demanded. "That Lucien guy crooked his finger at you and suddenly you're his bitch?"

"Fuck you," Sam spat. "I don't have to listen to this!" He grabbed his jacket and stalked to the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean yelled. Sam snarled at him.

"Out." He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him.

"Dean," Cas rumbled. Dean wiped a hand over his face.

"I don't know what's gotten into him tonight," Dean told the angel.

"Leave him be. Let him calm down," Cas suggested. "He'll come back once he's cleared his head."

* * *

Sam leaned against the Impala, breathing heavily. Of course, Dean had the keys and there was no way he was going back for them.

"Rough night?" a familiar voice asked and Sam looked up to see Lucien sauntering towards him.

"Oh, no," he said without thinking. "Not you." Lucien looked amused.

"You've had a fight with your brother," he said. It was not a question. Sam looked at him suspiciously.

"Are you spying on us?" he demanded. Lucien threw back his head and laughed, a deep rich sound that vibrated deep inside Sam.

"No. I don't need to spy on you to guess what's happened." he explained. He moved closer to Sam and stared at him intently.

"How did you know I was here?" Sam asked. Lucien shrugged easily.

"There are only a few motels around here that take cash and no questions asked. Then I just had to look for your rather distinctive car." Sam patted the Impala.

"She's Dean's," he said unnecessarily. "You were looking for us?"

"Looking for you," Lucien corrected. "I wanted to pick up where we left off earlier." His gaze dropped to Sam's mouth and all the air rushed out of the younger Winchester's lungs. Sam's hands shook and he looked around desperately for an escape route. Lucien frowned at him and stepped back.

"This isn't a trap, Sam," he said unhappily, his accent coming in stronger. "If you don't want this, you just have to say." Sam looked at him with pleading eyes.

"It's not that simple," he sighed. "It isn't just about me." Lucien moved closer again and dragged his fingers across Sam's arm. Even through his jacket Sam felt it as if Lucien's fingers were on his skin and _he wanted._ Lucien smiled at him.

"But you do want it," he said. Sam stared at him for a moment.

"Yes," he whispered. "God help me, but yes." Lucien trailed his fingers up Sam's arm, across his shoulder and then slid his hand around the back of his neck and tugged him closer. He crushed Sam's mouth to his and Sam gasped as his arousal spiked and his nerve endings seemed to spark.

Lucien pressed Sam against the car, the door handle poking Sam awkwardly in the kidney, but he didn't care. All he wanted to concentrate on was the feel of the redhead's mouth on his and the insistent pressure of his arousal against Sam's hip. A few clever flicks of Lucien's hand and Sam's jeans were undone. He groaned into Lucien's mouth and then pulled back.

"No. I'm sorry, but I can't," Sam forced out, against the relentless beat of desire that was singing through him. To his surprise, Lucien stepped away and smiled at him, his gaze warm. Sam looked down and refastened his pants.

"Perhaps another time," Lucien said easily. "Let's talk instead." Sam quirked an eyebrow at him and then pulled himself onto the hood of the Impala.

"OK," he said, curious to know what Lucien would find interesting. "What did you want to talk about?" Lucien perched on the edge of the hood and stared up at the stars.

"You're not the first hunters I've met," he said after a long pause. "But, I've never met a hunter like you before."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked warily. There were lots of ways he was different to most of the other hunters out there, some mundane and some freaky. He didn't want to give anything away, not when he didn't even know what Lucien was.

"Well, hunters are mostly solitary," Lucien said. "But that's not all that interesting, since you and Dean are brothers. And you seem a little saner than the average hunter, which given your history is nothing short of astonishing. But there's something fascinating about you. Any number of incredibly powerful beings have taken a personal interest in you over the years. I want to know why." Sam shuffled uncomfortably.

"I guess you're talking about Lucifer," he surmised. "Or Azazel?"

"Yes, yes." Lucien said impatiently. "But not just them. Angels, demons, a smorgasbord of monsters, even Gods. So, what is it about you that attracts the supernatural?" Sam shrugged at him, unsure how to answer. Lucien just gazed at the sky, waiting.

"I was born to be Lucifer's vessel," Sam mused. "I imagine that made me interesting to any number of creatures. Do you think I wanted any of this? I was going to school, I was going to be a lawyer." Lucien snorted and Sam poked him with the toe of his boot.

"A lawyer!" Lucien laughed. "You ended up with the lesser evil then?" Sam ignored him.

"I just wanted to be normal," he continued. "I was going to marry Jess, and settle down. A normal life." Lucien turned around and looked him directly in the eye.

"Do you still want that?" he asked. Sam looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"No," he admitted. "Even if I could wave a magic wand and bring Jess back, I suppose I've changed too much to go back to that now."

"What if you could go back to how you were?" Lucien pressed, leaning forward and Sam couldn't help but look at him.

"It's not possible," he breathed. "I can't even consider the idea." Lucien gave him a mysterious smile.

"What if it was possible?" he suggested. "What would you give to do that? Start again, do things differently. What would you be willing to sacrifice in order to get your life back?" Sam didn't care for where this conversation was going and pushed himself off the hood.

"It's impossible," he said firmly. "This is my life now, and I accept it. It's pointless to waste time wishing things were different." He turned to walk away and Lucien caught his arm.

"Many things are possible," he told Sam. "I can make the world bend to my will as I choose." Sam pulled his arm away in alarm.

"Good for you," he said idiotically. "But I'm happy as I am." Lucien gave him a sorrowful look.

"Are you?" he asked. "I wonder." Sam gritted his teeth and walked away.


	9. Chapter Eight

Dean kneeled in the grass of Stull Cemetery, staring at the spot where Sam had thrown himself and Michael into the Pit. It looked… ordinary. Just a patch of grass, a little brownish in places but nothing to signify the momentous event that had just taken place. He looked around for Bobby or Cas, but he was alone. Where had they gone?

He shivered at the memory of Sam, looking at him with the eyes of a stranger. And then that final moment when Sam had reasserted control of his body. He looked down at the grass again. Sam was gone. He'd failed to protect his little brother, the only thing that had given his life meaning for so long.

 _Dean._

He looked around again, but couldn't see anyone. He was utterly alone and although he'd promised Sam he'd go find Lisa, make a life for himself, in that moment he knew it would never be enough. He'd lurch through the rest of his life with a hole inside that could never be filled. A shell, playing at being human. He noticed the hard, heavy weight of his gun in his right hand suddenly and swallowed. He'd always considered suicide a coward's way out, an attitude Sam had chastised him for more than once. But right now, sweet black oblivion sang to him and the muddy gray of trying to be a normal person made his gorge rise in his throat.

 _Dean! You're dreaming!_

He looked around again. "Cas?" He called out.

 _You have to find your way out. Follow my voice, Dean._

He staggered to his feet, and forced himself to move. The scenery shifted and he was no longer in Stull Cemetery, but at the edge of a lake. There was a wooden bench overlooking the water and Cas sat there, eyes distant on the island in the center of the lake. Dean shuffled over and dropped down on the bench next to the angel. He'd misjudged it and sat much closer than he'd intended, his thigh pressed against Cas'. He went to slide further away, but Cas' arm shot out and dragged him closer. Dean fought him for a second, but Cas was cheating by using his angelic strength to hold Dean against his body. Dean gave up. The angel was warm and the unique smell that Dean associated with Cas, although he'd never admit to it, washed over his senses. Ozone and cool, crisp autumnal air.

"Another dream?" He asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

"Yes," the angel rumbled, his eyes still focused on the lake.

"This is getting to be a habit," Dean commented ruefully. Cas turned to him and his eyes were intent.

"The dreams are a problem, yes," he agreed. "But my assistance in this matter is never begrudged to you, Dean." The hunter rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Should I be worried?" The angel started and Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"There may be side effects," the angel said opaquely and Dean growled at him. "It's nothing to worry about," Cas reassured him.

"I dunno, Cas. I mean, it gets harder and harder to want to sleep, knowing what awaits me." Dean admitted and a strange expression flickered over the angel's face.

"Oh," Cas said finally. "Yes, you're right. That is something to be concerned over." Dean folded his arms.

"What did you think I meant?" He demanded. Cas looked uncomfortable.

"I thought you were concerned about my presence in your mind. I'm here a good deal of the time now." Dean stared at him, horrified.

"What do you mean, you're here a good deal of the time?" He cried. "What the Hell, Cas?" The angel made a quelling gesture with one hand.

"I have to monitor your mind so that I can intervene when the dreams start. But you resist me, quite stubbornly. So, it's easier not to leave once I'm here."

"Dammit, Cas. We've had this conversation before. I've told you I don't want you snooping around inside my brain!" Dean barked and Cas looked down at the ground.

"I know," he said. "And I am sorry. But if I don't do this, I can't get to you until the nightmares are much more advanced. I'm frightened that you'll hurt yourself, Dean. The first night I did this, you were on the verge of plucking out your eyes!" Dean sucked in a shocked breath.

"Shit! Are you serious?" Cas looked up, his eyes agonized.

"Yes. You don't remember?" Dean shook his head in denial.

"No, not really. I remember yelling at you for coming into my room while I was asleep." He gave the angel shy grin. "Sorry about that, by the way." Cas looked gratified at his apology, a little pink staining his cheeks. It was kind of adorable. Dean grimaced.

"So I have to put up with this then?" He snarled. Cas flinched but held Dean's gaze.

"No. Of course not. If you don't want me here, then I won't be. But the nightmares could get worse and they will be harder for me to combat," he explained. Dean nodded, thinking hard.

"OK. Stay, for now. But only until we get this sorted out," he decided. Cas looked pleased and Dean's breath caught at the warm affection in his friend's face.

"Good, Dean. I'm glad," Cas said, his face crinkling into a smile. Cas was hard to resist when he was like this, his whole attention on Dean, his pupils wide as he met the hunter's gaze. Dean's hand twitched with the sudden desire to reach out a touch the angel. _What the Hell's gotten into to you? Cas doesn't want you touching him._

 _Don't I?_

Dean started, he'd heard Cas's voice clearly but the angel's mouth hadn't moved. His eyes were riveted on Cas' lips.

 _Is this like some weird telepathy shit?_ He thought uncertainly.

 _Yes. But we've been doing this all along. Have you only just realized what's happening?_ Dean ignored that. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Cas' mouth, which remain closed as they talked.

 _Uh. OK. How far will this work?_

 _I will hear you no matter where I am. Does this make you uncomfortable?_ Cas' mouth tightened and Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably.

 _No, I guess not. But don't tell Sam. I uh…_ Cas' tongue poked out to moisten his lips and Dean's train of thought derailed and plunged down an embankment. His hand twitched again and he had to ruthlessly crush his feeling of disappointment as the dream dissolved.

* * *

It was quiet, a couple of hours before dawn. Cas liked this time of night, when most humans were asleep and he could stand and watch the stars wheel above him and think. A scrape of footsteps behind him made him lower his head to see Sam approaching.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, looking a little sheepish. Cas wondered where he'd been but didn't want to reignite the argument.

"Sam," he rumbled. "You should get some sleep." Sam nodded and clapped one hand on Cas' shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Was Dean pissed after I left?" Cas shook his head contemplatively.

"No," he admitted. "He's worried about you." The angel noted that Sam looked even more guilty.

"I get that," Sam sighed. "I do. But I don't need a chaperone." Having observed Sam earlier, Cas had his doubts but he was aware that Dean's attitude to his brother had colored his own perceptions.

"He only does it because he loves you," Cas told him. "Your brother does not love easily, but when he does, he does it with the whole of his being. It's incredible to observe." The angel's voice had become a curious mixture of wistful and awestruck and Sam had to swallow against a lump in his throat. He coughed uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I know. But does he have to be such an ass about it?" he complained, only half joking.

"He's a Winchester," Cas said solemnly. "Being an ass comes with the territory." That surprised a bark of laughter out of Sam.

"Message received," he grinned. "Loud and clear. OK, I'm gonna try and get a couple hours." Cas nodded and Sam turned away. He carefully eased the motel room door open and crept inside.

* * *

When Sam woke up, he was alone in the motel room. Dean's clothing was strewn around the room, his gun was in pieces on the table and there was an empty bottle of bourbon in the sink. Sam frowned. The socks on the lampshade was not outside normal behavior for Dean when drunk, although he did wish the state of the room owed something to activities other than drinking. But the fact Dean had left his gun disassembled made Sam a little uncomfortable. Closer inspection suggested a partial answer, the firing pin was missing. Had Dean taken it somewhere? The sound of the door revealed Dean laden down with coffee, donuts and a hesitant expression on his face. The look was so unusual, it took Sam a moment to recognize it for what it was.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said carefully. "Donut?" Sam gave him a smile and selected one from the box.

"Thanks," Sam said. "I uh…" Dean held up a hand.

"No. I'm sorry. You were right. I was being a jerk." Sam stared at him.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" he demanded. Dean laughed.

"Enjoy the moment, Sammy. Come on, we've got a case to solve." Sam bit into his donut, it was light and fluffy and absolutely delicious. Dean was right. They had a case to work.

"OK, so what's up with your gun?" Dean looked annoyed.

"Firing pin's bent. I was cleaning it this morning and found it like that." He pulled it out of his pocket and offered it to Sam to inspect. Sam stared at it in astonishment, how on earth had this happened? "I have spares in the car, but since I didn't drop my gun or do anything else to it that could have caused this, I wanted to know if it was magic. So I took it downtown to an old friend of Dad's. He says there's definitely traces of something, not witchcraft but something else. He couldn't identify what it was."

"Why didn't you get Cas to look at it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know where he is," Dean said. "I haven't seen him since last night." Sam's eyebrows rose.

"He was outside looking at the stars when I got back. I wonder where he went?"

"What time was that?" Dean asked. Sam raked a hand through his hair, thinking.

"I'm not sure. Sometime after 3." Dean chewed on his lip for a moment.

"He's probably checking up on Lucien," he decided. Sam struggled to keep his expression neutral but Dean wasn't paying attention. "So, after you left… I did some research." he announced. Sam raised his eyebrows but let his brother continue. "I know you were thinking ghost and I'm not saying you're wrong. But I kept coming back to those kids in the lab and what they said about Reed's jealousy over Meghan and Kyle." Sam nodded in thought.

"You think it's related to the case?" he asked. "OK, I'll bite."

"What if it was a spell? To make Meghan want him again?" Dean suggested. "Except something went wrong. Maybe the spell was badly made. Maybe the witch wasn't very experienced or maybe she…"

"Or he," Sam interjected.

"Yeah, yeah, or he, did this deliberately. Maybe they hated Reed's guts and this was meant to kill him."

"Or just scare him, but it went wrong. Yeah, that has possibilities. The timing issue, how all three died at the exact same moment, definitely smells of spellwork. So who's your suspect for the witch?" Dean gave him a rueful look.

"That's where it falls apart. If Reed himself was the witch, and this was just a spell gone wrong, why did Lon and Hugh have to die? It makes no sense for Kyle to be our witch, and anyway I really didn't get the witchy vibe off him, so right now I'm kinda out of ideas. Especially since Meghan seems to be AWOL."

"Do you think she's involved?" Sam asked and Dean shook his head in frustration.

"Maybe. But it doesn't really fit. I mean, why would Reed get her involved if she was the target of his spell?"

"Yeah, you're right. None this adds up. But I think Meghan might have some of the answers. We need to focus on tracking her down." Sam pulled out his phone and tried her number again and grimaced when he was bounced to voicemail yet again.

"Still not picking up?" Dean surmised. "Maybe she has skipped town. Dammit!"

"Let's go talk to Kyle again," Sam suggested. "I think he knows more than he's letting on."

"Sure," Dean agreed. "Lemme text Cas and tell him where we're going."

* * *

Kyle looked even more shifty and disheveled than the last time they'd interviewed him and Sam could smell vodka and the sweetish odor of cannabis.

"You're back," Kyle said unsteadily.

"Yeah, we've got a couple more questions for you," Dean told him. "And we're having trouble locating Meghan." Kyle frowned.

"Hasn't she been to class?" he asked. Sam shook his head.

"Nobody's seen her since your party. Her roommates, classmates, nobody we've spoken to."

"What about the homeless shelter where she volunteers?" Kyle asked. "I can't believe she'd skip out on them." Dean gave him an irritated look.

"We didn't know about it. What's the address?" Kyle scratched his head and then dug into a pile of trash on the coffee table and produced a card with a flourish.

"Here they are," he said. "This is Keira's card, she runs the shelter." Dean tucked it into his pocket and stared at Kyle for a moment. The young man shifted uncomfortably.

"So, uh. You had questions?" he said eventually.

"Look, we talked to some people who were here at the party. And a guy who was on shift in the emergency room that night and some things just don't add up." Sam began and Kyle's expression became alarmed. Dean tensed, this kid was about to do a runner and he was so not in the mood.

"What doesn't add up?" Kyle asked, looking around for routes of escape.

"If you didn't find Reed until 9:30, why did you tell the hospital you found him at 9? You kicked everyone out at 9pm too, why were Hugh and Lon still hanging around?" Kyle shifted suddenly and Dean grabbed his arm. "Answer the question!" he ground out.

"I had a test the next day, that's all. There's nothing weird about that," Kyle defended. Dean shook his head.

"So why host a party? Why not wait until the day after the test?" he demanded. Kyle was looking more and more panicked.

"It was Meghan's birthday, I told you." He struggled against Dean's hold and Sam took his other arm.

"Not good enough, Kyle. It was a Friday. How many professors set exams for a Saturday?" Sam said firmly and Dean started. How had he missed that?

"Yeah, and how many lecture on a Saturday either?" he exclaimed. Sam looked puzzled. "Hugh Nelson claimed to have an early morning lecture, remember. That's why he left Kyle and Meghan at the hospital." Sam's face cleared.

"You're right, I forgot." He turned his focus back to Kyle, who had stopped trying to free himself and was staring at the floor.

"So come on, Kyle. What really happened that night?" Kyle bit his lip so hard, blood began to ooze down his chin.

"Look, I swear, none of this was my fault," he begged. "I didn't even believe in this stuff. It was all Hugh's idea." Sam exchanged a surprised look with his brother.

"What was Hugh's idea?" Kyle shifted uncomfortably.

"You'll think it's stupid," he muttered.

"Try us," Dean said sternly.

"Hugh claims to be a druid or something. He makes sacrifices to these mythological creatures and he says they do things for him. Like help him ace a test or get a girl to go on a date with him. Stupid stuff like that. I mean, even if beings like that really existed, why would they be interested in doing favors for some college student?" _Finally,_ Sam thought. _Now they were getting somewhere._ "Reed played a prank on me last year and Hugh was pissed, I mean really, really pissed."

"We heard about that. Why was Hugh so angry?" Sam pressed. "You were the one who was nearly killed." Kyle looked surprised.

"The minivan that nearly hit me was Hugh's mom. She was really shook up and the doctors reckon that's what triggered a heart attack. She died three weeks later. But that wasn't Reed's fault, how could he know what would happen?" Dean looked severe.

"No, but what he did was stupid and dangerous. You were lucky not to be killed, and if you'd reported it, he would've gone to jail." Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Reed was just like that, impulsive and thoughtless sometimes. He didn't mean anything by it." Sam flicked a repressive look at Dean, there was no point making Kyle defensive about this.

"OK, so Hugh blamed Reed for his mom's death. What happened at the party?"

"According to Hugh, Reed wanted to try and get Meghan to go back to him. I guess he had gotten over his guilt over the thing with my brakes. He wanted Hugh to do his druid thing and make a love spell or something. Hugh told Lon about it and they decided to double-cross Reed, and turn the spell back on him somehow. I don't really understand it. They roped Meghan in with their idiotic scheme as well."  
"But not you?" Sam said insistently. Kyle shook his head. "Even though he was trying to get Meghan to leave you?"

"No. No way, I wouldn't have gone along with it. Reed's my friend." He choked. "Was my friend." Sam patted him on the shoulder.

"OK, take a deep breath." Kyle shuddered for a few moments before rallying.

"The plan was simple, Hugh would just do some fake mumbo-jumbo and Meghan would pretend to go along with it for a while, then publically denounce his scheme in front of everyone."

"OK, so far so dumb," Dean observed. "Keep going." Kyle hesitated.

"Look, I'm not saying I believe in this stuff, OK? But Hugh made a sacrifice to some ancient mythological hero called Efnysien. I'd never heard of him, but Hugh reckoned he was pretty badass. According to Meghan they lit a bunch of candles, killed a chicken, you know, like the plot of some bad horror movie. They asked this Efnysien to help them, I guess they weren't too specific about what they wanted, since it was all meant to be fake anyway." The door behind them suddenly opened and Kyle jumped. Sam and Dean turned around to see a plump, pretty girl casually dressed in jeans and a Volunteers t-shirt stride into the room.

"No, we weren't specific. We were just pretending," she said angrily, flicking her blonde hair. "I'm Meghan O'Connell. I think you've been looking for me." Sam stepped forward and introduced himself and Dean, flashing his credentials at her.

"It's not really a good idea to hide from the FBI," Dean told her forbiddingly. Her head came up and her eyes flashed.

"I wasn't hiding. At least, not from you. I was freaked out and I thought Kyle would never speak to me again. I got his best friend killed. But I swear, it wasn't supposed to be like this." Dean folded his arms across his chest.

"Then how was it supposed to be? Three people are dead and you're right at the center of it all." Sam nudged his brother with an elbow. Meghan was already hostile, did he have to go antagonizing her further?

"Right from the beginning things started to go wrong. Reed went out to get ice, which wasn't meant to happen." Kyle hunched unhappily.

"I asked him to go," he said. Meghan's face softened and she turned to him.

"I know. I was supposed to make sure we had everything we needed. Including ice. So it's on me. When he got back, he started trying to get Dylan involved in his plan. I don't know why because we already had everything planned out, and anyway, Yiyi hates Reed. She'd never let Dylan get involved in any of his schemes. We hadn't accounted for Reed going crazy and locking himself in the upstairs bathroom."

"That was actually kinda weird," Kyle interjected.

"So that's why you decided to close things down at 9pm?" Sam asked. "Kyle didn't really have a test, did he?" Meghan shook her head and Kyle looked out the window.

"No, that was my decision. Reed started sending me these really weird texts." She pulled out her phone and tapped at it for a moment then handed it to Sam.

 _I should have been consulted about the marriage - RM 8:04PM_

 _What marriage? Who's getting married? - Meghan 8:05PM_

 _The horses deaths were regrettable but necessary - RM 8:13PM_

 _What R U talking about? - Meghan 8:18PM_

 _My half-sister deserved better than that Irish dog - RM 8:22PM_

 _U don't have a sister - Meghan 8:26PM_

 _Do you think killing a hundred warriors was easy? - RM 8:29PM_

 _Reed R U OK? - Meghan 8:31PM_

 _I had to kill her son. It was the only way she could be free. - RM 8:35PM_

"After that last text, I went looking for Reed. When I couldn't find him down here I went upstairs. I was really worried about him, even I don't like him all that much," Meghan said with a guilty flick of her eyes to Kyle. "He was sitting in the tub which was filled with water, he was fully clothed and his eyes closed. I asked him if he was OK, and he said he was ready for the final sacrifice. When I asked him what that meant, he said he had to die in order to pay for what he'd done and to save his people. I thought he'd lost his mind. So I went back downstairs and told Kyle what was going on. We cleared everyone out of the house except Lon and Hugh.

"When we went back upstairs, Reed was lying in the tub under the water. We pulled him out and he wasn't breathing. We got his breathing started again but he was so cold, I was worried he might die of hypothermia. We called an ambulance and Hugh said he'd drive us to the ER."

"Hugh really didn't want to stick around at the hospital," Kyle added. "We argued and eventually Hugh said he was leaving. Lon was a pretty quiet guy, he hadn't said much up until now, he followed Hugh out, said he'd talk some sense into him. I guess that didn't work out so well." Meghan peered curiously at Dean and Sam.

"I just told you the craziest story, and yet you haven't so much as batted an eyelid," she said suspiciously. "Who are you people, really?"

"We're experts," Dean told her. "That's all you really need to know."

"OK, Mr Mysterious Expert," she replied sarcastically. "What the Hell happened to us? Why are Reed and Hugh and Lon all dead. Are Kyle and me in danger?" Sam looked at Dean.

"Honestly, we have no idea," Sam admitted. "But this Efnysien guy must be at the root of it. We'll do some research and figure out if there's any reason for you to worry."

"Well, that's reassuring," Meghan said acidly and walked over to Kyle. "I'm sorry. I should have told Hugh where to stick his moronic ideas." Kyle pulled her in for a hug.

"It's not your fault," he told her. Sam tugged at Dean's arm and they quietly let themselves out.


	10. Chapter Nine

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala and poked listlessly at his burrito. Sam abandoned the chicken caesar wrap he'd been struggling to eat.

"Where the Hell is Cas?" Dean demanded. Sam shrugged helplessly, _how was he supposed to know?_

"He'll show up," Sam told him. "I need to do some research on this Efnysien character." Dean squinted at him.

"You've had an idea?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"The name is vaguely familiar, I just can't remember where I heard it. I'll meet you back at the motel later." He slid off the hood and strode off in the direction of the university library, tossing the remains of his lunch into a trashcan as he went. Dean followed him and discarded his own food as well then returned to the car. He leaned his head against the steering wheel for a moment.

"Hey Cas, where are you buddy?" he whispered. He cranked the engine and drove off, not noticing the tall figure who watched him leave.

* * *

The library was quiet, not in the sense that libraries are supposed to be, but actually almost empty. Sam frowned, it was odd. When he'd been at Stanford, the library was never this uninhabited when classes were on. The librarian, a bald, skinny man in his late fifties with pince-nez spectacles that gave him a severe expression, looked up from the desk when he walked in.

"I need to see your UT ID," he said primly. Sam grinned and flashed his FBI badge but it did not dent the librarian's demeanor at all.

"I can't imagine what the FBI thinks it will find here," he said acidly.

"It's research," Sam said shortly, unamused at the obstruction.

"About what? I can't just let you government hooligans roam the library at will!" Sam wondered what this fussy little man imagined he was going to do.

"A name came up in the case we're investigating. It's a weird occult angle, probably means nothing but we like to cover all our bases," Sam said, injecting as much cool authority into his voice as he could. The smaller man blinked.

"Occult?" he said unsteadily. Sam's instincts sharpened.

"Yes. The name Efnysien came up in our investigation. I thought I remembered hearing it before but I can't put my finger on where." The librarian's eyes were bright.

"My name's Conor Byrne. Efnysien was a Welsh folk hero." Sam stared at him in astonishment and the man preened. "I wrote my master's thesis on Celtic mythology. There are many myths from Wales, Ireland, England, Scotland, Breton-"

"Wait," Sam interjected. "Where's that last one?"

"Breton? It's now part of northern France." Conor explained. "Efnysien is what we would now call an anti-hero, although the concept would not have made much sense to the Celts. A lot of what they considered heroic looks positively psychopathic now."

"OK," Sam said, thinking hard. "Can you tell me the story?" Conor looked around.

"All right," he agreed. "But only briefly. If you really want to know the whole tale, I can recommend a couple of good books."

* * *

When Dean arrived back at the motel, he found Cas lying on his bed, apparently dead to the world. He grabbed the angel's arm and shook him violently but Cas did not respond.

"Cas! Hey, wake up!" He looked around the room for any clues as to what had happened but came up empty. He leaned forward, Cas didn't even seem to be breathing. He wasn't sure if that was a bad sign or if Cas only breathed when he was conscious in order to fit in. The angel's eyes fluttered and Dean gave a sigh of relief, his breath ghosting across Cas' skin and ruffling his hair. The angel's eyes widened at the proximity of Dean's face.

"Dean?" he rumbled. The hunter gave him a wide smile.

"Hey, Cas. You're OK! You gave me a scare!" Dean's face was still really close, and Cas didn't know if he wanted him to move away or stay exactly where he was.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I've been… busy." Dean leaned away then and took in his appearance, his coat was dirty and torn in a number of places. A puzzled crease appeared in Dean's forehead.

"I can see that," he observed. "Anything you want to tell me?" Cas sat up and looked hopefully at him.

"Not right now," he said. Dean's eyes went flat.

"I see. You just disappear, right in the middle of a case without a word or a note or anything. And then when you do show up again, you look like you've been in a serious fight and you don't want to tell me about it? What the Hell, Cas?" The angel looked away.

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about," he said. "Heaven's business. You said you weren't interested in being involved in anything to do with Heaven anymore."

"Dammit, Cas, why are you working for Heaven again? After everything those assholes have done to you?"

"I am an _Angel of the Lord."_ Cas snapped. "Whether I like it or not. It's a small job, they've asked me to take care of it and I agreed."

"Fine," Dean snarled. "But if you're so busy with this, why did you want to come with me and Sam to Knoxville." Cas looked positively murderous.

"My _contact_ was here." Suddenly some pieces began to fall into place.

"Lucien," Dean stated. Cas gave him a pleading look, then nodded.

"He had information I needed." To his surprise, Dean relaxed and clapped one hand onto his shoulder.

"OK. I get it. You were going to have to come here anyway to talk to that son of a bitch. You don't want to work with him, but he had the intel. That's fine, but in future just tell me what's going on." Dean squeezed the angel's shoulder and Cas felt his chest constrict in response.

"I was only trying to protect you," he admitted.

"I'm a big boy, Cas. I can look after myself." Dean reminded him. Cas shook his head.

"Not against him. And even if you could, Sam is another story." Dean's gaze sharpened.

"I asked you before what this asshole wants with Sam," he ground out. "What aren't you telling me, Cas?" The angel gave him a helpless look.

"I don't know. Until I saw how he interacted with Sam, I had no idea he cared who either of you were." Dean scratched at his stubble as he contemplated Cas' words.

"OK. Well, let me fill you in on what we've found out while you've been… busy." He summarized their conversation with Kyle and Meghan. Cas' face twisted as he listened.

"So, do you have any idea who this Efnysien guy is?" Dean asked him when he'd finished. Cas shook his head.

"No. It's not unfamiliar but I can't seem to recall where I heard it."  
"I thought angelic memory was perfect," Dean said mockingly. Cas frowned.

"It is. Which is why it's so strange."

"OK, well here's another mystery for you to solve while you're at it." Dean dug the bent firing pin out of his pocket and handed it to Cas, who gasped as soon as he touched it. "What is it?"

"This is very old magic," Cas said wonderingly. "Was this the only part of your gun affected?" Dean nodded and the angel frowned. "This spell was designed to blunt the blade of your enemies. Apparently the spell is flexible enough to treat that as a concept, rather than literal intent. Your gun must have been quite close to the rune to be affected." Dean frowned and pulled his gun out and quickly stripped it down.

"Goddammit!" he swore and held up another bent firing pin. "It's gotta be in Kyle's house." Cas stood up to inspect the pin in Dean's hand and compare it with the one he held. He grabbed Dean's hand and held this two pins side-by-side. Dean watched the angel's face as he examined the pieces of metal, the intent expression on his face gave the hunter a curious sensation in his chest that he did not want to explore. He began to feel a little warm, but couldn't step away while Cas held his hand like this. Except that wasn't really true, was it? If he pulled away, Cas would let him go. He swallowed, uncomfortable and unnerved and when the motel door swung open with a bang, he thrust himself away from Cas so quickly he almost tripped over the end of the bed. Sam entered the room with a pile of books and his eyebrows raised at the scene before him, Dean scrambling away from Cas like Sam had just interrupted something.

"Uh, hi," Sam said uncertainly, the tension in the air making his throat close. "Hey, Cas. You're back."

"Yes," Cas said absently, staring at a piece of metal in his hand. Sam recognized it immediately.

"So Cas was just telling me how he thinks a rune caused this," Dean said suddenly and defensively. Sam peered at him but declined to comment on his brother's bizarre behavior. Dean held up another bent firing pin and Sam's mouth tightened. He dropped the books onto the table with a thud and pulled out his own weapon, quickly disassembling it and extracting the firing pin. He held the warped piece of metal up with dismay.

"See!" Dean said triumphantly. "It has to be at Kyle's house."

"I didn't disbelieve you," Cas said mildly.

"Wait," Sam said. "I found out who this Efnysien guy is. The librarian told me the whole story."

"Does it help us with this case?" Dean asked. "I'm not really in the mood for story hour."

"Yes. I think I know what's going on. Efnysien was this anti-hero type in Welsh mythology. His half-brother, Bran, arranged a marriage for their half-sister, Branwen, to this Irish king." He pulled out one of the books and flicked through it. "Here he is." Dean squinted at the book.

"How the Hell do you say that?" he demanded.

"Math-oh-look" Sam said.

"Actually, the sound at the end should be wetter," Cas corrected. "Like the end of the Scottish word loch. Math-oh-looch." Dean shivered at the breathy tone to the angel's voice as he pronounced the foreign word.

"OK," Sam shrugged, trying to ignore the look on Dean's face. "Anyway, Efnysien didn't know about this arranged marriage and he only found out when they were holding a big celebration. He was furious. Went kinda nuts and tortured all the king's horses to death. Of course, Matholwch was very angry and so Bran had to buy the guy off with this magic cauldron that could bring the dead back to life. Matholwch accepts the gift and the wedding goes ahead, but apparently he hadn't quite forgiven or forgotten because he treated poor Branwen quite badly. Eventually, she manages to get a message to her brother and he travels to Ireland to rescue her. This Bran was quite an imposing fellow according to legend and so Matholwch cuts a deal with him that ends with the kingdom going to the son that Branwen had borne, Gwern. The Irish lords didn't like that too much, so they hid inside the house where Bran and his entourage were staying. Efnysien worked out what was going on and slaughtered the lot of them. Then he burned Gwern alive, threw the kid into a fire." Dean's eyes widened. "Yeah, he was an all-around stand-up guy. The whole thing gets very bloody when a huge battle breaks out. Efnysien realizes the only way they can survive is to destroy the cauldron which is being used to revive the slain Irish warriors. He hides among the corpses and is thrown into the cauldron and he destroys it from the inside, sacrificing himself in the process. Only a few Irish and Welsh people survive the battle. Bran himself is slain and his head is taken back to Wales by Branwen, who later dies of grief."

"I've heard this tale before," Cas announced. "I wonder why I didn't remember it."

"So, I take it you have a theory." Dean surmised. Sam gave him a grin.

"Yeah. What if this is a good old-fashioned ghost possession?"

"Really?" Dean said as he contemplated the notion. "You think Hugh somehow raised the spirit and Reed was possessed by it? How does this explain the deaths?"

"Actually, it explains everything," Cas stated. "Think about it. Reed is possessed by Efnysien through a spell cast by Hugh, Lon and Meghan. The spirit's in Reed but is tethered through the three who cast the spell. Then Hugh has a car accident driving back from the hospital. The magical backlash would be tremendous. It could explain how Lon and Reed both died at the same moment that Hugh did."

"Wait," Sam objected. "Why didn't Meghan die? If she's as much a part of this as the other two?"

"I don't know," Cas admitted. "Maybe her lack of belief protected her somehow."

"OK," Dean said slowly. "So does that mean there's something for us to do here or not? What happened to the spirit of Ef... Effy-whatever?"

"Meghan could still be in danger. And the spirit had to go somewhere. My guess is it found another person to possess. And Efnysien is a very dangerous individual."

"Could Meghan be the one possessed now?" Sam asked urgently. Cas gave him a startled look.

"If she is, then Kyle is in trouble."

"OK, let's load up on salt and iron and head back to Kyle's place," Dean decided.

* * *

The door to Kyle's house was slightly ajar and Dean made a couple of gestures to Sam to tell him to head around the back. Cas shadowed Dean closely as the hunter toed the door open quietly and crept into the house. It had been messy before, but now it looked like a tornado had torn through. Furniture was upended, smashed glass and china littered the floor and there were several smears of blood on the floor and walls. Dean checked behind the couch and curtains before indicating to Cas that the room was clear. The angel knew this of course, but it made him feel like a real part of the team so he simply gave a curt nod and continued through to the kitchen.

This room was in just as much disarray, with several drawers dumped on the floor, their contents a sharp, steel obstacle course between here and the door to the hall. Dean heard a creak from upstairs and then turned his head to the back door where Sam was entering. He pointed upstairs and then headed into the hall. Sam watched the angel follow his brother and elected to bring up the rear.

The staircase was in poor condition, with several sagging boards that threatened to give way completely. Sam wondered how Kyle had managed to live in such a place without serious injury. The creak came again and Cas pinpointed the sound easily as coming from the door at the end of the corridor. Dean tried the knob but it was locked. After a consulting look at Sam and Cas, he leaned back and kicked the door in and leaped into the room. Kyle was gagged and handcuffed to a rickety looking daybed, his eyes wild and a streak of blood on one cheek. Meghan leaned nonchalantly against the wall.

"Look, Kyle, the cavalry's here," she drawled. Kyle's eye's rolled in his head at the appearance of the hunters.

"So, Efnysien," Sam said easily. "It _was_ Meghan you possessed when Reed and the others died." There was a shadow on the edge of his vision and he turned his head carefully to try and get a look at it, but it slithered away.

"Yes," Meghan, or rather Efnysien, admitted. "It had to be one of those who cast the spell. I walk the earth again after a long, long sleep. Most of my enemies are long dead. _But not all…_ "

"Begone, spirit!" Cas declared, stepping forward with his hand extended. Dean only had a second to see the look of shock on the angel's face as Efnysien lazily flicked a hand and he flew across the room. _Oh shit._

"Puh-lease," she said. "You think I spent eons in the deep sleep just to be defeated by a lovesick angel?" Dean and Sam both fired their shotguns at her but only managed to get in one shot before they both jammed. Cas struggled to his feet.

"Dammit!" Dean yelled and drew his cold iron dagger, lunging forward savagely. Efnysien turned away but the blade sliced across his forearm and he screamed. Gray smoke billowed from Meghan's mouth and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. The smoke writhed and twisted for a moment and then surged out of the room. Dean and Sam lunged after it and followed it down the stairs, but it was gone.

"Fuck." Dean said with feeling. Sam had to agree.

Back upstairs, Cas released Kyle from the bed and then tended to Meghan. The cut to her arm was not deep and healed quickly. Her eyelids flickered and she started in shock at the sight of Cas bending over her. Kyle pulled her over and they hugged tightly as Dean and Sam re-entered the room.

"We lost it," Dean announced.

"What do we do now?" Sam asked. "It's not like it's a regular ghost."

"No, but it has the same weaknesses as a regular ghost. At least, it didn't like the touch of iron." Dean pointed out.

"But it was much more powerful than it should have been," Cas said sourly. Dean grinned at him.

"Will it come back?" Meghan asked shakily. "Are we still in danger?"

"Honestly, we don't know. But it's probably best to assume so. Is there anywhere else you can stay tonight?" Kyle nodded.

"My uncle runs a motel on I-40. It's quiet this time of year, he'll let us have a room." Sam clapped him on the back.

"Good. That's good. Why don't you guys head over there and we'll check out the rest of the house?" Meghan and Kyle looked at the three of them and then shuffled out of the room.

"So what are we looking for?" Dean asked.

"Number one, the rune that keeps messing with our weapons," Sam said pointedly. "Then, I guess we have to find whatever is anchoring the spirit to this plane. I think it has to be in this house."

"Makes sense, I guess," Dean agreed. "OK, let's split up. I'll take this floor. Sam, you take downstairs, Cas, see if there's a basement or attic we need to search." Sam headed off to the stairs and Cas realized Dean was staring at him.

"Dean?" he asked. "What is it?"

"What? Oh, uh, nothing. I just, uh. Are you OK? That spirit hit you pretty hard."

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas said with a smile, the hunter's concern for his wellbeing warming him. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Sam found the rune behind the refrigerator. Cas burned it out and then concentrated to see if he could sense any others in the house.

"I think there is at least one more thing," he told the Winchesters. "I can feel the old magic, vibrating."

But a search of the rest of the house did not reveal any more runes.

"You're sure there's something here, Cas?" Dean pressed and the angel looked annoyed.

"Yes, Dean. I'm certain." Cas splayed his fingers on a wall and closed his eyes. "Maybe it is not inscribed on a wall. Perhaps it is an object."

"An object?" Sam said, looking puzzled.

"Yes, a talisman or something like that. It could be the anchoring point for the spirit."

"When you say talisman, are we talking jewelery?" Dean asked.

"Not necessarily," Cas admitted. "It could be almost anything."

"Anything like this?" Dean asked lifting up a piece of stone on a shelf. Cas' eyes widened.

"What is that?" Sam asked. "It looks like a dinosaur tooth."

"It's the tooth of an afanc," Cas said, taking it from Dean. "Where did Kyle get this?"

"Afanc?" Dean said with a frown.

"Welsh lake monster," Sam told him. "Kind of like a giant crocodile, which certainly explains the shape of that tooth."

"The afanc are extinct," Cas explained. "How could Kyle or Meghan have gotten a tooth?"

"I don't understand," Sam confessed. "It's a fossil, someone probably thought it was a _T. rex_ or could have bought it on eBay."

"No, no. You don't understand. There were never very many afanc. Three, maybe four. No more. Do you know how improbable fossilization is? The chance that an afanc would fossilize is astronomical."

"So then it's not a fossil, it's been preserved deliberately somehow." Sam suggested.

"The last afanc was slain by Peredur, who was contemporary with King Arthur." Cas rumbled. "If authenticated, this artifact would be priceless."

"OK, so what do we do with it?" Sam said, raking a hand through his hair.

"What do we always do with it?" Dean said rolling his eyes. "We salt and burn the thing and get the Hell out of Dodge."

"Burn the priceless artifact? That's your solution?" a new voice drawled. Sam didn't need to turn around to recognize Lucien's lilting Irish brogue.

"Not you again," Dean said sourly. Lucien sauntered over towards Sam, who twitched at his approach but his focus was entirely on the afanc's tooth, which he plucked from Cas' hand.

"I'll be taking that," he said superciliously.

"You can't!" Sam exclaimed. "We think the spirit of Efnysien is bound to it. We need to destroy it."  
"Nonsense," Lucien said, turning the tooth in his hands and examining it. "I can deal with one badly behaved Welshman." Sam saw Dean make a small urgent gesture to Cas, but couldn't interpret it. The angel clearly understood him, as he whipped his hand out and grabbed the tooth back from Lucien and Dean plunged his cold iron dagger into Lucien's back. Sam gasped in horror and dismay, and struggled to conceal his conflicting emotions from his brother and the angel. But their attention was focused on Lucien, who shoved Cas back hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, cracking his head hard on the corner of the coffee table. He fell to the floor and lay still. Lucien whirled around and grabbed Dean by the throat, pushing him up against the wall and holding him there suspended. Dean bucked and thrashed but could not escape Lucien's grip.

"Lucien," Sam begged. "Please. Let him go." Lucien turned to regard him, his green eyes savage and angry.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why should I let any of you interfere with my plans?" His eyes bored into Sam, who squirmed under the relentless gaze.

"Look, we've blundered into whatever you were doing here. And we're sorry. But saving people is what we do. I'm not sure that's your priority but there has to be a solution here that doesn't involve us trying to kill each other. We're on the same side, when you think about it." Sam didn't want to beg Lucien for Dean's life. Who knew what this mysterious creature would reveal if he did? Lucien regarded him curiously.

"Who are these people to you?" he asked. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Lucien was listening, which meant he had a chance. Dean made a strangled sound.

"If you let Dean go, I'll explain," Sam offered. Lucien gave a bark of laughter and then dropped Dean, who collapsed into a choking pile on the floor. Sam dashed to his side.

"Are you OK?" he asked urgently. Dean nodded, unable to speak and flicked a hand at Sam. He looked back at Lucien.

"We do this because we can, we're good at it and nobody else will."

"There are other hunters," Lucien objected.

"Yes. But not enough. Not nearly enough for everything that's out there." Sam explained sadly.

"But why do you care?" Lucien said, sounding frustrated. "These people you help, how many of them are really grateful? How many even know just how much they owe you?"

"They don't owe us anything. Nobody asked us to do this. We just do. Gratitude doesn't matter. The job needs to be done and we do it." Lucien shook his head at that.

"Is it worth it?" he asked sadly. "You've given up so much. And for what? To do it all again tomorrow?" Sam gave him a bitter smile.

"Is it worth it? I don't know. But I have to keep believing that I'm making a difference." He gestured to himself, Dean and Cas. "That we're making a difference. I guess that's what matters." Lucien stepped closer to him and he stood his ground.

"I think I understand now," Lucien said uncertainly. "I always wondered why he did it. It made no sense to me before. But I think I understand now." Sam looked at him in confusion. _Who was he talking about?_ "Don't worry. I will deal with Efnysien. The human he possessed and her little friend are safe."

"What are you-" He didn't get a chance to finish. Lucien had disappeared, taking the afanc's tooth with him.

"Dammit!" Dean croaked and he crawled over to where Cas lay silently. He gripped the angel's shoulder and shook him gently.

"Hey, Cas," he whispered. "You OK?" Cas groaned and blinked open his eyes.

"No," the angel said laconically. "Not really. Where's Lucien?"

"Gone," Sam told him. "He took the afanc's tooth with him. He said Meghan and Kyle don't have to worry, that he would deal with Efnysien's spirit." Cas frowned.

"That's odd," he commented finally. "Why did he say that?" Sam looked puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"The fates of a couple of humans are as nothing to him. Why would he care about whether they were safe or not?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "He asked why it was important to us and I explained. He seemed to accept it." Cas looked totally baffled.

"I don't understand," he complained. "This is not typical behavior for Lucien. He always has an angle." Sam shrugged.

"Are you saying he's lying?" he asked. Cas shook his head.

"I don't think so. If he says Meghan and Kyle are safe, I believe him. He cannot lie, although he can evade or conceal the truth."

"Really, Cas? We're gonna start just believing the monsters now?" Dean drawled and Sam bit the inside of his cheek to contain his reaction. Did Dean have to split the entire world into monsters and not monsters?

"We have no choice," Cas pointed out. "Lucien is gone, the afanc tooth is gone. We can go and find Meghan and Kyle and make sure they are unharmed. But what else do you want us to do?" Dean growled and stamped away.


	11. Chapter Ten

**A/N I'm sorry updates have been a bit irregular. I was traveling for work a lot and I was waiting to see how some of the plotlines in S11 played out. So in celebration of the finale - here's another chapter!**

* * *

 _Oh no,_ Dean thought. _Not again!_ The gray, muddy feel of Purgatory seeped into his bones and made his teeth ache. He looked around for Benny or Cas, but he was alone. A dark shape flickered off to his left and he turned his head but there was nothing there. Being alone in Purgatory wasn't ideal, but it was better than unfriendly company. He wondered if Cas was aware that he was dreaming again, and gave a start. This _was_ a dream, not reality. He looked around.

"Finally," a voice said and Dean gulped. Whatever that voice was, it was not and had never been human. He turned slowly, poised for an attack but could see nothing. "You're wasting your time. You won't be able to see me, not unless I want you too." The voice was like a cheese grater on a chalkboard, like the tortured metal sounds of a garbage truck and underneath it all, a hollow echo that made Dean feel nauseous and dizzy, like he was stood too close to the edge of a tall building.

"Who are you?" He demanded. "What do you want?"

"Call me Tenebrae," the voice scratched. "I want to talk to you."

"OK," Dean said. "Come out of hiding and we can talk all you want." _Where the Hell are you Cas?_

"I think not. You are a hunter after all, and they can be so… tiresome."

"Fine," Dean gritted out. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"You are perfect. Really, quite delightful. I can see the attraction." Dean's jaw twitched in irritation.

"If you're going to talk in riddles, we're done here," Dean declared. There was a gust of wind, or was it a sigh?

"I want you to come to me. I have a proposition for you." Dean rolled his shoulders.

"What kind of proposition?" Tenebrae made a strange whistling sound and Dean's dizziness increased.

"Let's just say that we have a common goal. A common enemy, if you will."

"Amara?" Dean stuttered. His head was swimming now, fuzzy and gray.

"Is that what she's calling herself? Yes. Amara."

"OK, so what do you want with me?"

"So many things…" Tenebrae purred. "So many, wicked, delicious things." Dean shivered, cold running down his spine. He doubted Tenebrae's idea of a good time corresponded to his. _Oh God, Cas. Where are you? I need you._

"Your pet angel can't help you now. But don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you." Tenebrae's voice came from right by his left ear and he turned suddenly, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever monstrous creature was invading his dream. "Just come to me, and I will give you what you need to defeat Amara."

"What the price?" Dean demanded. "Nothing comes for free."

"Indeed," Tenebrae drawled. "There's a price, but nothing you can't pay. I want you." Dean's breathing stuttered.

"What for?" He choked out.

"I need a… representative. On earth. Someone working to further my aims." Tenebrae told him.

"And what would those aims be?" Dean growled. When he felt Tenebrae hesitate, he added, "I'm not going to swap one threat to all of creation for another."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. I have a score to settle. With Metatron." Dean gasped in surprise. "Yes, I thought that would surprise you. You've got your own quarrel with him, don't you."

"It's a waste of time," Dean told him. Was Tenebrae a him? He wasn't sure. "Metatron's mortal now. You'd waste the little fucker in seconds."

"Perhaps. It's not your concern. So, will you help me?"

"I'll think about it," Dean agreed. "I'm not promising anything."

"Very well," Tenebrae said irritably. "But I need an answer soon." Dean awoke with a start.

* * *

It was a little after 3am and Sam gave a sigh. He'd been trying to sleep for hours, but had achieved little other than a headache. He got up and pulled on some sweats, wandering around looking for Cas, but the angel was nowhere to be found. Scratching his head in puzzlement, Sam made his way into the kitchen. Maybe some hot chocolate would send him off to sleep. As he searched the cabinet for the packets of hot chocolate he came across a bag of miniature marshmallows. The sweet scent made him think of Sully which brought a wistful smile to his face. It had been good to see his imaginary friend again. There was a shuffling sound behind him and he spun around, expecting to see Cas but instead it was Dean, tugging on the belt of his robe and looking disturbingly like Dad.

"Sammy?" Dean said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "It's the middle of the night, dude."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Sam apologized, watching Dean wipe a hand over his face.

"Nah, it's OK. You didn't really wake me, I was just wondering where Cas was," Dean said sleepily and Sam peered at him.

"How did you know he was missing?" Sam asked curiously. Dean flushed.

"Well, I uh…" Sam's eyes widened, it was a rare thing to see Dean without an easy explanation. "He uh… This is hard to explain without it seeming weird," he complained. Sam adjusted his expression to one of cool disinterest.

"OK," he shrugged, although his curiosity was nearly killing him. Dean sighed.

"He checks on me, OK? At night. Makes sure I'm sleeping, chases away nightmares," he admitted.

"I see," Sam said, although he really didn't.

"I have nightmares, Sam. Bad ones. About Hell, or Purgatory, or you in the Cage or fuck, a whole lot of shit that's gone down. Cas… takes care of it. Don't ask me how, some angel mojo." Dean waved a hand.  
"How long has he been doing that?" Sam asked carefully. His brother pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Since we moved into the Bunker. I guess it got worse because I started sleeping in a room on my own. Cas realized what was going on and just started checking on me. Now he does it every night." Dean grimaced, looking pained. "But not tonight. I had a nightmare, it woke me up. When I went looking for Cas, there was no sign of him. I saw the light in here and found you instead."

"Sorry," Sam said, trying not to smile at the adorable image in his mind of Cas checking up on Dean each night.

"Whatever. Are you making hot chocolate?" Dean said, his eyes suddenly bright. Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Want some?" he asked. Dean grinned like a little kid.

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

Sam sat at the kitchen table, chatting idly with Dean and sipping at his hot chocolate. He looked at his watch and Dean grinned.

"Boring you, am I?" he asked. Sam gave a weak smile.

"No. I'm just thinking about going back to bed and trying to sleep again."

"Why were you up anyway?" Dean asked suddenly and Sam jerked guiltily.

"I couldn't sleep, that's all," he offered, hoping Dean would drop it. His brother looked closely at him.

"You having nightmares too?" he asked and Sam shook his head.

"No, no. Just restless I guess. The end of our last case was kinda unsatisfactory."

"You mean, we didn't get to gank anything," Dean said sagely.

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "Well, OK. Maybe. I'm not desperate to kill something or anything."

"Speak for yourself," Dean complained. "If I don't get to put a bullet in something soon, I might put one in myself."

"Don't joke about stuff like that," Sam said sharply. Dean made a quelling gesture.

"All right, I was only joking." He eyed Sam up and down. "You know, even before Sully showed up you were in a weird mood. You sure you're OK?" His brother was avoiding the elephant in the room again, Sam noticed. Sooner or later, they were going to have to talk about the Cage. But not tonight.

"Yeah," Sam lied. "I'm fine. I'm gonna try and get some more sleep." He got up and ambled out of the room. Dean watched him leave and chewed his lip in thought. If only Cas was here…

* * *

Back in his room, Sam's sense of uneasiness only increased and he frowned at himself. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He just needed sleep. But as soon as he felt himself drift, he jerked awake again, the sound of thunder echoing in his head and the eerie blackness of the Cage, suspended in the smoky depths of Hell seared his retinas. He sighed and leaned over to scrabble in the drawer of the nightstand for some sleeping tablets. Dean didn't know he had them and frankly Sam hated taking them because the dreams were so vivid and fucked-up. But they were just dreams not visions of the Cage and right now he'd do anything for some rest.

* * *

Dean pondered his empty mug for a while after Sam headed back to bed. The angel's unexplained absences were becoming a regular thing now and whenever Dean questioned him about it, he was evasive. In fact, the last time Dean had pushed the matter, Cas had straight-up told him it was none of his business. That had hurt. Which was stupid, why should he care what Cas was up to? But memories of Cas lying and evading him from when he was working with Crowley to try and find the entrance to Purgatory washed over him. It wasn't that he hadn't forgiven Cas for what he'd done, he had. He'd always forgiven anything Cas had done to him, just as the angel always forgave him for everything as well. But neither of them forgot.

Dean tugged at his hair in frustration. Sitting here chewing over it was futile, but the next time Cas showed up he was going to get some answers, he decided.

He eyed Sam's laptop, lying abandoned on the kitchen table, and pulled it towards him. He checked his email, which seemed to be entirely spam these days and then began browsing Reddit, which was always a good source of odd rumors and reports of strange happenings. And a lot of nonsense too, but that was the internet for you. Several clicks later, he was down the rabbit hole of a potential case.

When Sam came shuffling back into the kitchen, Dean realized with a start that several hours had gone by. He squinted at his brother, noticing he was loose-limbed and relaxed. He smiled to himself, apparently Sammy had managed to get some more sleep.

"Hey," Sam said, yawning. "Have you been in here the whole time?" Dean grunted at him.

"Yeah, I got dragged into an interesting story about a missing person on Reddit."

"Oh? Wanna tell me about it while I make coffee?" Sam responded vaguely. Dean watched him for a moment as he puttered about the kitchen.

"OK. So, there's this guy in Boston, uh, Mario Santelli. Italian immigrant, moved to the US about twenty years ago. Computer programmer, married with two kids and a dog. Super normal guy. Anyway, he's a marathon runner, goes all over the country running marathons and raising money for kids with cancer. He goes out running on Boston Common, as he did most days before work, never comes home." Dean scrolled down the page he was reading and took a grateful slurp of coffee from the mug Sam set in front of him. "His office calls his wife, asking where he is. She calls the police. Boston PD blow her off, he's an adult, he's not really missing until it's been twenty-four hours, blah, blah, blah. So she calls a couple friends of his that he runs with. And they all swear that they saw Mario out running, but for one reason or another, none of them were running with him that day."

"OK," Sam said slowly. "So what makes this our thing?"

"Let me tell you the whole story," Dean griped. "I'm not done." Sam shrugged in apology.

"So, it turns out that the same day Mario goes missing, a woman makes a crazy police report about a man she saw running on the common who just vanished into thin air." Sam frowned.

"What did she mean, vanished into thin air?" Dean turned the computer towards Sam.

"She posted this on Reddit. Check it out." He watched as Sam read the thread and then looked up at him with a disturbed look on his face.

"So, he was just running along and he trips over something. He gives a scream and as he falls, poof he's gone?" Sam asked and Dean nodded. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Familiar?" Dean said, his eyebrows raised. "You read about this case already?" Sam shook his head.

"No, not exactly but… I dunno. I just feel like I've heard something similar. A long time ago." Sam scratched at his head thoughtfully.

"Well, Boston's finest thought she was nuts. Sent her away with a threat that if she didn't shut up, she'd be prosecuted, would you believe?" Dean told him.

"Prosecuted for what?" Sam exclaimed in outrage.

"Wasting police time, I guess. Look, that's not the point. The point is, when she posted this story on Reddit, two more people came forward and said that although they didn't see Mario Santelli, they did hear a scream at about the same time as our witness saw him disappear. Neither thought it was important at the time."

"What, people go around screaming on Boston Common all the time?" Sam snarked and Dean grinned.

"Well, you know it was early morning. They both assumed it was just kids messing around."

"OK. Let's check it out. Any sign of Cas?" Sam said tentatively and sighed at Dean's expression.

"No. He's still AWOL," Dean snarled. Sam chewed his lip contemplatively.

"Are you worried about him?" he asked.

"No," Dean denied. "I just… wish I knew where he was, that's all."

* * *

"Ha!" Sam cried in triumph and Dean flicked him an irritated look before returning his eyes to the road. "I knew I'd heard the story before."

"What story?" Dean said, frowning.

"The disappearing runner. It's classic old Forteana. And it's not true." Sam told him. "The story is about this shoemaker in England, back in the 1800's. He was out drinking with friends one night and boasting about his prowess as a runner and so his friends made a bet with him that he couldn't run all the way to Coventry and back, which was about a forty mile round trip. He set off running, his friends following on a horse and cart. They reported that he was doing well, but then gave an unearthly scream, fell and disappeared. He was never seen again."

"How do we know it's not true?" Dean challenged.

"Because it was a short story written by Ambrose Bierce. Although Bierce himself did vanish mysteriously, so there's that."

"So, are you saying that this case in Boston is a hoax?" Dean growled, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"No, not necessarily. It's just strange, that's all. It's a famous mystery and lots of people don't know that it's not true. It shows up from time to time on those lists on the internet. You know, top ten mysterious disappearances, that kind of thing." Sam stared out of the window for a moment, watching the world flash by. "This Mario Santelli is certainly missing. That much is true."

"But the witness could be a crank? Awesome." Dean commented. Sam's phone buzzed and he prodded at it.

"Well, crank or not, we have another disappearance. Also from Boston Common." Sam said, a note of discomfort threaded through his voice. "Almost identical circumstances. Jayne Grant, a legal secretary who works downtown and likes to run on the Common during her lunch break. She never returned to work this afternoon and when she didn't come home tonight, her spouse called the police."

"Her office never called to ask where she was when she didn't come back from lunch?" Dean asked. Sam paged through the email he'd received from his contact in BPD.

"Yeah, actually they did call and leave a message. But nobody was home." Sam shrugged.

"I guess the husband was also out at work," Dean mused.

"Wife," Sam corrected. "She's a photo-journalist for the Herald." Dean blinked.

"Wife?" he muttered. Sam gave him a quelling glance.

"Do we have a witness this time?" Dean said quickly. Sam frowned at him and returned his attention to his phone.

"No. Not yet. But she's only been missing a few hours." Sam checked his watch.

"You want to head straight to the Common?" he asked. Dean nodded.

"Yeah. Maybe whatever is causing these disappearances left us a clue."

* * *

Dean looked around the mostly deserted Common. It was a little after 2am and most sensible people were home in bed. But then he and Sam had never claimed to be sensible. He nudged his brother and gestured to the Common.

"Where did the crazy lady say she saw Mario Santelli disappear?" Dean asked. Sam looked at the map on his phone.

"The report said it was in a cluster of trees near the Tadpole Playground." He looked up and scanned the area and then pointed. "That set of trees is the thickest, we should start there." He strode off in the direction he'd indicated and Dean hurried after him. They spent several minutes surveying the footpath and the area around but found nothing of interest. Sam sighed in frustration.

"We don't even know if we're looking in the right place," he complained. There was no reply and Sam's head came up. Where was his brother?

"Dean?" he called out. "Dean!" He was rewarded with silence. "Shit! Dean!" He scanned around him, desperate for any clue to where his brother had gone. There was nothing. Dean had vanished into thin air. A scrape of a boot behind him had him whirling around and he sagged in despair when he saw a Boston police officer walking towards him, a flashlight in one hand.

"Sir? Are you OK? I heard shouting," the officer said, his voice tense.

"Yeah, uh. My brother, he uh, he was right here. And now he's gone." Sam said.

"I see. And what are you doing here, at this time of night?" The officer was still alert and ready for something. Sam sighed theatrically.

"We're bloggers. We run a UFO website. We heard about these strange disappearances and wanted to check it out. Thought maybe it was abductions," he lied. The sneer on the officer's face told him he'd been convincing.

"You're talking about Mario Santelli. Mysterious, my ass. Santelli's in the Charles River if you ask me. He owed a lot of money to a lot of bad people." He looked Sam up and down. "I'm Officer Bradley. You want some help to look for your brother?" Sam gulped. He didn't really want this guy hanging around but to refuse would look suspicious so he pasted on a grateful expression and nodded.

"Yeah, that would be great. I last saw him right there, by that bush," he explained. Bradley nodded and walked over to the bush, his flashlight trembling slightly in his hand. Sam frowned to himself. If he didn't believe there was anything to this mystery, why was Bradley so obviously afraid? And if he was afraid, why did he offer to help? He didn't have any more time to ponder the mystery, as he felt a sudden sharp pain at the back of his head and then everything went black.

* * *

Dean shifted uncomfortably against his bonds but he was tied quite securely. He could make out some hulking shapes in the darkness but no matter how much he squinted at them, he couldn't resolve them into anything recognizable.

"Sam?" He croaked out. There was no reply. Hopefully that meant Sam had escaped whoever had snatched him. His head ached abominably. "Cas?" No, the angel wasn't here. He needed to reach out the other way. He tried to stretch out his shoulders but the bindings on his wrists were too tight.

 _Cas? Cas! Buddy, I need help! Sam and I are in Boston, and some asshole knocked me out. I'm trapped, but I don't know where._ There was no reply and Dean cursed.

"So, good of you to join us. I was wondering if I'd hit you too hard," a voice said. Dean squinted but he could only make out a vague outline of a man. The figure moved closer and knelt down beside him, extending one hand and brushing his fingers across Dean's cheek.

"My, you are a pretty one," the man said. Dean tried to flinch away from his cold fingers but he was so securely hogtied, any movement was virtually impossible. Those fingers continued, questing under the collar of his shirt and then with one vicious tug, the cotton tore and exposed Dean's chest. Panic began to claw up his throat, he was utterly helpless here and this man could do anything to him.

 _Cas! Dammit, Cas! Help me!_

"Beautiful," the man whispered. "Perfection." He slid his fingers over Dean's skin, humming happily to himself. Dean tried not to react to this unwelcome assault, but nausea roiled in his stomach and he had to breathe hard through his nose to combat the sensation. The man's hands had reached his jeans and they easily flicked open the button and dragged the zipper down. Dean bucked in terror, the ropes binding him tightening as he fought uselessly to get away from his assailant.

"My, we are squeamish, aren't we? Relax, this is going to be good, I promise."

"Fuck you!" Dean spat. He felt rather than saw the man's smile.

"Well, if you insist," he purred. Dean's vision went white with fright. Monsters he could handle, but this?

 _Cas!_ He screamed with every ounce of his being. _Cas! Please!_ He projected everything he could through the mental link with the angel, holding nothing back.

 _Hold on, Dean. I'm coming..._

There was a screech behind him and a flashlight briefly lit up the scene. Dean gasped in recognition of the man leaning over him, who turned as the light fell on his face.

"Dammit, Bradley. What now? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"No time for that now," the one called Bradley said. "I've got the other one and Schatten's just called. Says the tribute needs to be intact."

"Fuck him," Dean's assailant, that he'd now identified as Mario Santelli, snarled. "After all the trouble they've caused?"

"Dean Winchester will only make a perfect tribute if he is _untouched._ " Bradley insisted. "If you have your fun with him, not only will Schatten be pissed, but that fucking angel Castiel will rip out your spine and use it for a jump rope."

"I'm not afraid of Castiel," Santelli laughed.

"You should be. He's in love and you know how singular angels are in their focus. He'd pursue you to the ends of the earth if you so much as look at Dean Winchester wrong. In fact, he probably will now anyway. Our only hope is to give both Winchesters to Schatten and turn the angel's wrath on him." He turned and dragged a sack into the light and Dean blinked. Sam! Santelli bared his teeth at him and he shoved Dean hard against something wooden that creaked in protest. Shaking, he grit his teeth against the pain and tried to stay still. Cas was coming, he just had to make sure they survived until he arrived.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Awareness came sudden and sharp, like an icepick into his brain. Sam blinked rapidly and tried to make sense of the scene before him. He appeared to be in some sort of shed, his hands tied securely to a wooden post behind him. What a sad indictment of his life that this was not an unusual occurrence for him or Dean. There wasn't much light, but what little moonlight there was filtered in through some small square windows at one end. Where the Hell was he? He could see several large objects, some kind of boats maybe?

"Dean?" he said hoarsely. "Dean!" There was a groan to his right and when he looked over he could see a familiar figure lying on the floor, slumped against one of the boats.

"You're awake," a voice observed and Sam turned to his left to see Officer Bradley standing there, watching him. He pointed his flashlight at Sam, making him squint.

"Looks like," Sam said stupidly, hoping he could get some information by playing dumb.

"You know, you're really a terrible liar," Bradley said, sounding amused. "I made you as soon as you opened your mouth. Y'know, just mentioning the Winchester brothers strikes fear into the hearts of many creatures. And yet, I find the reality rather less than terrifying."

"Everyone has their off days," Sam muttered sourly and Bradley laughed at him, fangs flashing in the beam of the flashlight.

"Indeed. What a pity for you. I was going to kill you, of course. But then I got a better offer." Sam shivered. That did not sound like good news.

"Who?" he growled. "Who would make an offer for us?" Bradley grinned at him.

"Someone who wants you both, very badly. You pissed off a lot of folks over the years it seems." Sam kept his focus on Bradley as he manipulated a small blade concealed in his belt. "I think I'll let you wonder about that for a while." Dean gave another groan and Bradley's attention switched to Sam's brother. There was a sound from somewhere else in the room and a shorter, older man stepped into the moonlight. Sam gasped in recognition.

"You're Mario Santelli!" he exclaimed and the man looked annoyed.

"Yes. And I was enjoying my well-earned retirement, right up until you two started nosing around," he complained, baring his fangs at Sam. Sam cursed under his breath. "I staged a nice little disappearance, paid off a few friends in the Boston PD. Another friend of mine made up the crazy disappearing act story, you know. Adds a bit of mystery and spice. Everything was going exactly as planned."

"And Jayne Grant? Where does she fit into all of this?" Sam demanded. He'd manipulated the small knife upwards and was carefully sawing through the rope at his wrists, trying not to wince when it slipped and sliced into his skin.

"Oh, yes. Lovely little Jayne. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bradley here was clearing up the crime scene on the Common when Jayne runs up to him and tells him she saw me after I supposedly disappeared. So, she had to go. We brought her here and had a little fun with her before we dumped her in the river." Sam wanted to throw up at the leer on Santelli's face. He could hear struggling and cursing behind him and turned to see Bradley wrestling with Dean. He wiggled in an attempt to finish cutting through the rope tying his hands but his fingers were numb and clumsy and panic was beginning to close his throat. Dean bucked and kicked his bound feet into Bradley's face, square in the mouth, an explosion of blood and teeth drawing a hiss. He launched himself back at Dean and the hunter grunted in pain as the vamp's elbow landed solidly in his solar plexus.

Santelli grabbed Sam suddenly and the blade fell from his hands with a clatter. No matter, the rope was bare threads and he could tear his arms free. He whipped his hands forwards and punched the newborn vampire in the face. Not the most effective attack, but it had the element of surprise and gave Sam the needed time to get to his feet. He looked around desperately for a weapon. The knife in his boot was not nearly large enough to hack off a vamp's head, or even slow them down. He stepped backwards and almost tripped over something on the ground. Bradley was prowling towards him so he knelt quickly and grabbed it, figuring anything was better than nothing at that point. Anything turned out to be an old-fashioned boat-hook, a vicious-looking thing that was almost like a spear. It might at least fend the vamp off for a moment while he figured out a better plan. He lunged forward, impaling Santelli on the point and then pressed forward, pinning the vamp to the wall with an obscene crunching sound. Santelli cursed and writhed but was trapped, at least for the moment. Dean was still grappling with Bradley on the floor, the policeman banging Dean's head hard against the concrete. Sam, all out of options, retrieved the knife in his boot and lunged at Bradley, jabbing it into his Achilles tendon. He ripped the knife sharply from left to right, severing both tendons and then shoved Bradley away from Dean. The vampire turned on him with a snarl but Sam's attack had done its intended job and left him unable to walk. Dean was lying awfully still but Sam couldn't pay him any attention at that moment because behind him, he could hear Santelli pulling himself off the wall. Shit, shit, shit.

He turned to see the younger vamp standing behind him ready to pounce, the boat-hook still stuck gorily in his chest. Sam grabbed it and yanked, hard. The hook apparently snagged on several internal organs and ripped a huge hole out of Santelli's chest. He collapsed to the ground, still alive but rendered immobile by the sheer scale of the damage. Sam turned to face Bradley again, and was stunned to see Cas gripping the vampire police officer's head with one hand. Bradley died in a blaze of white light and the angel threw the corpse aside with an audible growl, dropping to his knees next to Dean.

"Cas!" Sam cried. The angel ignored him, running his hands over Dean in a way that suggested he was checking for injuries. A gurgling sound behind him attracted Sam's attention again.

"Fucking bastard," Santelli gasped. "We should have killed you when we had the chance." Sam gave him a savage smile.

"Yes, you should have," he told him.

"Sam," Cas rumbled and a skittering sound brought a machete to Sam's hand. He picked it up and stood over the prone vampire.

"I suppose it's pointless for me to beg for mercy?" Santelli whined. Sam's smile got broader.

"Completely. Now tell me who Bradley was going to sell us to." Santelli grimaced.

"Some German dude. Herr Doktor Schatten. That's all I know." Sam swung the machete once and Santelli's head rolled across the floor. He turned around to look at Cas and his brother.

"How bad is he hurt?" He asked the angel and Cas frowned. He cupped Dean's face in his hands as his head lolled over his shoulders.

"Cas..." Dean slurred, his eyelids flickering. "Leggo. 'm'alright…" Cas leaned forward, so close that his nose was almost touching the hunter's.

"You have a concussion," the angel said solemnly. Dean's eyes fluttered again and then opened sleepily, his unfocused gaze seeking Cas' eyes. He gave a slow smile that shot sensation straight through the angel's gut.

"Hey, Cas," he said, his voice low and gravelly. The angel watched him carefully as he seemed to gradually regain his senses. He blinked twice, his pupils suddenly blowing wide and his breath catching. Cas swallowed at the hunter's sudden reaction to their proximity and went to lean back but then Dean's eyes dropped to his mouth and he froze. Dean dragged his gaze back up to Cas' and then tilted his head slightly. It would be nothing at all, no more than a small movement to bring their mouths together, Dean thought fuzzily. But he didn't move and neither did Cas. They just stayed like that, breathing unsteadily and staring at each other.

"You came," Dean breathed and Cas could feel it ghosting across his skin as the hunter lifted his head ever so slightly. Yes, definitely time to move away. Or he could… He swallowed and Dean's gaze followed the movement of his throat. He jerked away suddenly and covered his confusion with a cough.

"Dean," Cas said, his voice rough with the sensations he was not going to examine or put a name to. He touched the hunter's face gently, extending his Grace to heal Dean's injuries. "How are you feeling?" Dean nodded slowly, still looking disoriented and weak.

"I'm OK," he mumbled. Sam watched the two of them, feeling rather like he was intruding on a private moment. Dean was leaning against Cas, the angel's arms around him like he never wanted to let go. If it hadn't been for the blood and Dean's ripped clothing, Sam might have described the scene as cute. Dean noticed him looking at the sight of him wrapped around Cas and pulled a face. But he didn't move away. Sam nodded uncomfortably at Cas, and then turned and left the boathouse.

* * *

Back at the Impala, Sam's eyebrows rose as Dean, leaning heavily on Cas for support, dug in his pockets for the keys and handed them over without a word. He exchanged a look with the angel, whose expression was grave. He opened his mouth to speak but Cas shook his head and Sam closed it again with a snap. He climbed into the passenger seat and watched Cas carefully put Dean in the back seat, then slide in beside him. He pulled Dean into his body and Sam stared in astonishment as Dean curled around the angel with a whimper. The angel's face was stony and Sam gulped. What the Hell had happened to Dean while he was out? He started the engine and drove silently out of Boston as the first rays of sunlight began to stain the sky.

Sam was certain that after a few hours, Dean would demand he pull over and let him drive. But instead his brother had fallen asleep, cuddled in Cas' lap. Sam eyed the angel in the rear view mirror.

"How did you know how to find us?" Sam asked him. Cas gave him a strangely calculating look.

"Dean called me," he said finally. Sam frowned at him as he thought that through.

"They were pretty inept kidnappers, but seriously? They didn't even take his phone? And why didn't he call _me?_ " Cas looked away and Sam felt like he was missing something.

"It's not important," the angel said. "What's important is that I found you both, and you're safe." Sam's lips quirked in a ghastly imitation of a smile.

"Is Dean OK?" he asked, too afraid to ask the question that hovered in the air. Cas looked down at his brother, his face pained.

"Yes. He'll be fine," the angel said. He looked down, stroking his fingers through Dean's hair, the tender expression on his face bringing a lump to Sam's throat. He rubbed one hand over his face. "Do you want to stop here and get some sleep?" Cas asked as a sign advertising a motel appeared by the side of the road. Sam took a deep breath.

"Yeah. I'm exhausted and we're still at least fifteen hours from the bunker." He swung the car into the motel parking lot and left Cas to deal with Dean as he got them a room. Cas unceremoniously carried Dean from the car to the room, and Sam expected Dean to bitch about being hauled around but his brother stayed quiet. It was beginning to unnerve Sam, this extended period of silence. He watched as Cas carefully removed Dean's boots and damaged clothing and Sam handed him a fresh shirt. Cas patiently dressed Dean, his expression inscrutable and then settled next to Sam's brother on the bed. Dean rolled over and curled into the angel's side. Sam shook his head at the strangeness of it all and then hauled himself into the bathroom to clean up.

* * *

Bright sunlight filtered through cheap, thin curtains and Sam groaned. He pulled his pillow over his head, determined to get a few more minutes.

"Get up, Sammy," Dean said, his voice muffled and rough with sleep. Sam raised his head. Dean was lying sprawled facedown on the bed, his eyes closed.

"Are you getting up?" Sam asked sleepily. He was answered with a light snore. Screw it. He was going to try and sleep again. A thump startled him from his half-doze and he looked up again to see a stray pillow on his legs.

"Did you just throw a pillow at me?" he asked, sleepily bemused.

"Yes. Get up, go get coffee." Dean mumbled. Sam grimaced but pulled himself out of bed. Dean had had a rough night, so it was the least he could do really. He looked around for the angel.

"Where's Cas?" he asked. Dean grumbled into his pillow about little brothers who needed to get their ass in gear. Sam gave up and pulled on his jeans and a shirt and went off in search of sustenance.

* * *

When he returned to the room, Dean was half-dressed in his jeans but no shirt and his hair was wet. He grabbed the coffee and slurped it down gratefully. Sam tossed a couple of sandwiches onto the table.

"I didn't know if you wanted some food…" he began. Dean gave him a weak smile and snagged one of the sandwiches. He unwrapped it and stared at it for a moment and then to Sam's dismay, pulled a face and dropped it back on the table.

"I've got some granola bars, if that's more appealing," he offered. Dean shook his head and ducked back into the bathroom. Sam unwrapped his sandwich and ate it, watching the bathroom door as he chewed. Eventually Dean reappeared and Sam pretended not to notice that his eyes were red and bloodshot and his face was pale.

"Wanna hit the road?" he asked tentatively. Dean nodded and held his hand out for the keys, which Sam surrendered with relief. If Dean wanted to drive, he couldn't be in such bad shape.

* * *

Three hours into the drive, Sam had come to the conclusion that he had been wrong about Dean's mental state. Something was definitely going in his brother's head. He hadn't spoken a word to him, responding to his questions with grunts and nods of his head. Finally, Sam's temper got the better of him.

"Are you going to spend the rest of this drive avoiding talking to me?" he demanded. Dean looked at him in surprise.

"I'm not avoiding talking to you," he defended. "I just don't have much to say."

"Really? Our last hunt goes completely to Hell, we're saved only at the last minute by Cas. Which he was only able to do because the vamps were idiots." Dean gave him a puzzled look. "And where is Cas, anyway?" Sam challenged.

Dean shrugged easily. "I don't know. He was gone when I woke up," he explained. He sounded disappointed, Sam thought.

"Have you tried calling him?" Sam asked and Dean gave a weary sigh.

"The vamps threw my phone in the river." Sam stared at him, a strange feeling beginning to unfurl in his stomach.

"Wait, Cas said you called him when you were snatched. How did you do that if your phone was at the bottom of the Charles River?" When Dean shurgged again, Sam tugged at his hair in frustration. "Are you saying Cas lied? Why would he do that? And if you didn't call him, how did he find us?" Sam watched in astonishment as a veil came down over his brother's face, wiping it of all expression.

"No idea," Dean said with an air of studied nonchalance. "Some angel mojo, no doubt." Sam wasn't buying it. Dean knew how Cas had found them but for some reason he didn't want to tell Sam.

"Dean…" he began and Dean cut him off.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Cas saved our asses." Dean's voice broke alarmingly and he coughed. "End of story." His tone brooked no dissent and Sam subsided. Whatever was going on, Dean wasn't talking. At least, not right now.

* * *

Sam's stomach began to demand his attention and he looked over at his brother. "Can we stop and get something to eat?" he asked. Dean's mouth twisted.

"I'm not really hungry. Are you?" Dean asked, his voice low.

"Yeah, I am actually. Come on, Dean. You didn't eat breakfast and it's nearly 3 o'clock." Dean's shoulders hunched but he nodded in agreement.

"There's a diner up ahead," he noted. "And I need gas anyway."

The diner was small and crowded but their waitress led them to a booth in the corner after a few minutes wait. Sam perused the menu and cast surreptitious looks at Dean whenever he thought his brother wasn't looking. Which was often, Dean was mostly staring out of the window. The waitress gave them a beaming smile, which Dean ignored.

"Coffee," he muttered, not turning away from the window. Sam gave her an apologetic look.

"Yeah, coffee for me too. And the grilled chicken sandwich on wheat." He said, his eyes on Dean.

"Sure. You want fries, a side salad or you can have sweet potato fries for another fifty cents."

"A salad, thanks. Italian dressing on the side." He poked his brother's arm. "Dean, are you going to eat?" Dean shook his head wordlessly.

"OK," the waitress said brightly. "Coming right up."

As soon as she walked away Sam grabbed Dean's sleeve. "You have to eat, Dean. You've had nothing since lunch yesterday."

Dean pulled his arm away irritably. "Leave it, Sammy. I'll eat when I'm hungry," he growled. The door to the diner opened and Sam sagged with relief when he saw Cas walk in. He waved to the angel and was glad to see Dean's face looked a little less tense. Cas slid in next to Dean and nodded to Sam.

"Hey, Cas. How did you find us?"

Cas gave Dean a sidewards glance. "Dean texted me," he said.

Sam folded his arms and sat back. "From the bottom of the Charles River?" he demanded. Cas looked perplexed and looked back at Dean, who gave a heavy sigh.

"The vamps tossed my phone in the river, back in Boston," he said. Cas' face cleared and then clouded again when Sam glared at him.

"I'm not sure this is the right place for this discussion," Cas said finally, looking around the diner.

"Fine. You make Dean eat, and we can leave," Sam said firmly. Cas turned his gaze on Dean, who looked back defiantly.

"You need sustenance, Dean," the angel rumbled. Dean looked mutinous. "Don't make me force you to eat," Cas added, his tone indicating that he'd really hate to do that.

"Fuck off, Cas!" Dean snarled. "I don't need you fussing over me as well." Cas leaned forward into Dean's personal space and Dean retreated against the window.

"I will take care of you, whether you wish it or not," Cas growled. There was a suspended moment as Cas and Dean stared at each other and Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Then Dean pulled his gaze away from the angel in defeat.

"Fine. Get me a cheeseburger. Whatever," he grunted and Sam tried to ignore the small smile of victory on the angel's face.

* * *

Cas' triumph was short-lived. Dean poked his food around his plate listlessly, having only taken one bite of the sandwich. Sam demolished his food like a starving man. Funny how the tables were turned, Sam thought. Well, it wasn't that funny, not really. Finally, he asked the waitress to box up Dean's lunch and paid the bill with a sullen air before slouching outside.

Leaning against the door of the Impala, irritation marking the lines of his body, Sam glared at Dean. "Enough, Dean. Talk to me. What's going on?" Sam snapped, grabbing Dean bodily and shoving him up against the car.

"Get your damn hands off me, Sam!" Dean yelled, shoving Sam backwards and drawing the attention of a couple of truckers in the parking lot. Cas grabbed both of them by the arm and gave them a hard look.

"I think we should go somewhere there isn't an audience," he told the brothers sternly. Dean pulled away from the angel and yanked the door of the car open so hard it squealed in protest. He threw himself into the driver's seat, Sam scrambled into the passenger seat and Cas stalked away to his own car. Dean turned over the engine and roared out of the lot like a man possessed. Sam held onto the door handle tightly and kept his mouth shut. A few miles down the road, Sam's phone rang.

"Hey, Cas," he answered tiredly. Dean eyed him as he muttered into the phone. "Dean, Cas wants us to stop at the abandoned gas station up ahead." Dean made a face, but nodded in acquiescence. He spotted the crumbling gas station and pulled the car sharply off the road, making Sam swear under his breath. As soon as he threw the car into park, Sam shoved the door open and clambered out, pacing up and down. Dean climbed out and leaned against the fender, his face uncharacteristically pensive as he watched Sam's agitated movements. Cas drove up a few moments later and parked jerkily next to the Impala. He got out of his car and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, leaning forward to speak directly into his ear. Sam couldn't hear what he said, but the look on Dean's face was resigned and Sam squashed down a twisting sense of jealousy at the closeness between Dean and his angel. Dean turned his face to Cas, and they looked at each other, so close that their noses were almost touching. The angel's hand moved up Dean sleeve and for a moment Sam was convinced he would touch his brother's face. Then Dean pulled away, almost reluctantly it seemed, and wandered off, leaving Sam and Cas alone.

"OK, Cas. What's going on?" Sam demanded, planting himself firmly in front of the angel.

"A number of things," Cas said, looking off to where Dean was standing watching the road. "The vampires in Boston...mistreated Dean while he was held captive." Sam examined the angel's expression.

"Are you saying they-" he broke off, swallowing. "What are you saying, Cas?" Cas looked solemn.

"I'm not sure what happened, but it's causing considerable distress. He was concussed too, but I healed the physical damage. Psychological harm is not so easily remedied." Cas said, sounding like his heart was breaking. "I'm monitoring the situation, as best I can. We just need to give Dean space and time. I'm sure he'll talk to us when he's ready." Sam's shoulders slumped.

"All right." He looked at his brother and then back at the angel. "So how _did_ you find us in Boston?" The angel shuffled and for a moment Sam thought he was going to deflect the question.

"Dean and I can communicate telepathically," Cas said, looking embarrassed.

Sam peered at him curiously. "OK," he said slowly. "How long have you been able to do that?"

Cas looked down at his feet. "Technically, we've always been able to do it," the angel admitted in a low voice. "Dean only became aware of the extent of it recently." Sam studied Cas carefully and considered his next question.

"Cas, are you and my brother... close?" Cas looked up and gave him a puzzled look.

"You know that we are, that we share a profound-"

"Bond, yeah. I know that. I meant...something else." The angel continued to look baffled. "Uh, I mean are you sleeping together?"

Cas glared at him. "You know I don't sleep. But that's not what you mean, is it? You're asking if I'm having sex with your brother?" the angel said loudly and Sam almost swallowed his tongue. He cast a nervous glance at Dean, who was scuffing at the ground with one toe.

"Yeah, OK. Keep your voice down. Dean will kill me if he knows I asked you that." He looked back at Cas. "Well?"

The angel gave him an exasperated look. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. Sam gaped at him, shocked at the violence of his response.

"I don't see what's so ridiculous," he defended. "The way you two look at each other, is it really so surprising that I would think something was going on?" Cas was stiff and his face went totally blank. Sam was reminded strangely of Dean's face earlier.

"I believe you are misreading the situation," Cas said primly. "There is nothing sexual about my relationship with Dean." Sam breathed through his nose, trying to keep a rein on his temper at the blatant lie.

"Fine. So, explain the telepathy thing. And the fact you spend every night in Dean's room." Sam challenged and the angel jerked back in astonishment. "What, you think I hadn't noticed?"

"It's not what you think," Cas said, his voice unsteady. "It's just the nightmares."

Sam frowned at him, remembering his conversation with his brother a few nights ago. "Dean said he was having trouble with nightmares. That you check on him, every night." Sam paused, eyeing the angel's face for his reaction to his next statement. "But I know for a fact that you spend the whole night in there with him, more often than not." he asserted.

Cas met his gaze, a savage light in his eyes. "Dean suffers from night terrors. It started not long after you moved into the Bunker. He would scream and tear at himself. I found him one night clawing at his face. If I hadn't intervened, he would have scratched his eyes out." The lines around the angel's mouth tightened in remembrance. "So I stay in the room and watch him sleep. If I detect a nightmare starting, I can enter Dean's mind and steer his thoughts in other directions. This almost constant presence in his mind made Dean aware that we could communicate this way. He doesn't care for it, and usually reserves it for emergencies. But when the vampires grabbed him, he screamed out for me so loud I heard him even though I was… far away"

"You can't have been that far away," Sam observed. "To get to us in time. Since you can no longer fly."

Cas looked uneasy. "I had help," he said. Sam glared at him. "Lucien brought me to Boston." Now it was Sam's turn to feel wrongfooted.

"Lucien?" he faltered. Cas gave him a searching look and he got a grip on himself. "So, you're saying there's nothing more going on that you watching over Dean as he sleeps." He was deliberately trying to provoke the angel and the way Cas' face contorted for a moment before closing down told him what he wanted to know.

"Sam, I know you are not trying to be insulting. To you, it seems a simple thing. You seem to forget I am not human," Cas said reprovingly. Sam barked out a laugh.

"Come on, Cas. Don't give me that angels don't have sex crap. You know for a fact that I know it isn't true," he said, irritated and amused when Cas growled at him. "Fine. Have it your way. But I know what I see when you two are together." A flash of pain in the angel's eyes made him regret saying that almost immediately. He pinched the bridge of his nose, an incipient migraine throbbing at his temples, then turned on his heel and headed back to the car. Cas closed his eyes.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Dean watched the conversation between Cas and Sam for a moment, before turning away and staring off into the distance. He hadn't wanted Sam to know about this weird mental communication he had with Cas. At first he'd assumed it was just an extension of what happened when he or Sam used to pray to Cas, back when there was a functioning angel radio. But Cas had disabused him of that notion fairly quickly.

"It's exclusive to the two of us," the angel had said with a gentle smile, one that tugged at his gut in an indefinable way. "Nobody else can listen in. And unlike a prayer, it doesn't just transmit words. You can send me any sensory input you're experiencing, or emotional states." Dean had been unable to suppress a start at that revelation.

"What, so you'll be able to feel if I'm pissed off or… whatever?" He'd asked.

"Yes. And you'll be able to feel mine as well, although obviously my emotional states are not like a human's." Cas had looked nervous, Dean had thought at the time.

Right now, he could feel a steady stream of feelings from the angel, irritation and worry at first and then shock at something Sam had said, before the entire connection shut down. He poked at the mental link experimentally, but Cas had closed him off completely. He looked over at his brother and his angel. Cas was angry and distressed, he didn't need a telepathic link to tell him that. Sam was trying to get a rise out of the angel and apparently succeeding. Who knew what that was about?

Dean turned away, feeling bereft without the constant steadying presence of Cas in his mind. He hadn't even noticed the soft, warm feeling of Cas in there until the angel had shut it all down just now. He tugged at the mental link between them once more, but Cas was stonewalling him. His mouth set into an unhappy line, he walked back to the car.

* * *

Dean had retreated back into the silence he'd inhabited before the fight at the diner. It was beginning to get on Sam's nerves. He scrolled aimlessly through his email on his phone, desperately hoping for a lead on a case or something. Anything to give him an excuse to break the unnatural quiet in the car.

"I'm sorry," he said, wondering if trying to talk to Dean was a good idea.

"It's OK," Dean responded. "I wasn't trying to worry you." Sam blinked in surprise and swivelled his head around to look straight at Dean.

"Are you all right?" he asked. A muscle twitched in Dean's jaw but he nodded.

"Yeah. I don't really want to talk about it," he said. "Trust me, Sam. There's nothing to worry about."

"OK," Sam agreed, thinking he'd probably worry anyway. "Did Cas tell you where he was before he came to rescue us?"

"No," Dean said and his knuckles whitened. "But he was with that Lucien asshole again. Once we get back to the bunker, he's gonna tell us what's going on." Sam eyed him skeptically. Cas had been evasive about the mysterious Irishman so far. What made Dean think they were going to get any more answers out of the angel now?

* * *

But Cas never showed up at the bunker, and after a few hours of silent drinking, Dean suddenly announced he was going to bed, leaving Sam to contemplate the disastrous hunt in Boston on his own. He slouched in the chair, more whiskey in him than he normally drank and too lazy to get up and go to bed himself. Recently, everything they'd done had felt like they were spinning their wheels. They were no closer to dealing with Amara and for the last few hunts neither of them had been at the top of their game. Dean still completely refused to discuss the idea of Sam returning to the Cage, insisting that there had to be another option. And then there was the matter of Cas' strange, unexplained disappearances. Sam's mouth pursed as he considered the angel's behavior. Dean was right. Next time Cas showed up, they were going to have to press him for a straight answer. He felt his eyelids begin to drift close.

When he heard a crack of thunder, his eyes popped open with a jolt. Staring into the gloom he realized with a sickening sense of recognition where he was. The Cage. The strangely pointed bars were as black and slick as he remembered, seeming to suck what little light there was and all of Sam's hope along with it. A movement to his left made his head swivel around, terror making his mouth dry and his heart race. Lucifer stood before him, wearing the semblance of that poor bastard Nick. His face was curiously gentle and slightly sad and Sam was sure he should feel more afraid when Lucifer stepped closer, so close that they were almost pressed chest to chest. He opened his mouth to speak but Lucifer pressed one cool finger against his lips and he shivered.

The sense of unreality continued when Lucifer stroked that finger along his jaw and then cupped his face. Sam swallowed, the expression on Lucifer's face completely unreadable. He stared at the fallen archangel for what seemed like forever, and then Lucifer gave him a sad smile and the dream faded.

* * *

There was still no sign of Cas the next day, a fact that made Dean cranky and Sam twitchy. Eventually, driven to distraction by his brother's mood, Sam retreated into his room with his laptop. Santelli had mentioned a name of someone who had offered money for their capture. The name had not been familiar, and Sam wondered how they'd managed to catch this guy's attention. A quick internet search revealed two Herr Doktor Schatten's in the US, a neurosurgeon in Wisconsin and a professor of history at the University of Maryland. Sam frowned, neither seemed very likely candidates but if he had to choose then the neurosurgeon seemed the more unlikely of the two. He clicked onto the UM faculty page and scrolled down to Dr Schatten's name. Following the link to his profile, he sighed at the scanty information. Dr Schatten was interested in the history and mythology of the Celtic peoples and he had published some papers about Irish and Welsh mythological artifacts. He looked at the photo on the profile page carefully, trying to figure out if he recognized the man at all but he seemed unfamiliar. He was good-looking, somewhere in his mid-forties with iron-gray hair and an infectious smile that seemed entirely at odds with the idea that he was colluding with vampires and other creatures to capture him and Dean. There was a phone number listed and an email address. Sam thought for a moment. Did he want to reach out and contact this guy? Just demand straight out why he was willing to pay for their capture? Sam ran one hand through his hair. Maybe he ought to check out the surgeon first.

This Dr Schatten was a rotund man in his early sixties, with fading blond hair and blue eyes. He didn't look especially threatening either. His webpage described his work on brain cancer in excruciating detail but had even less connection to the world the Winchesters inhabited than the historian's research. Of course, such pages were unlikely to reveal if either man had any strange hobbies, like an interest in the occult. That would not endear any patients to the surgeon, or inspire much confidence in students for the historian. It was a dead end, unless Sam was willing to reach out and contact either of them. He got up and headed out in search of Dean.

Dean hadn't moved from his slouched position at the library table, a beer in one hand and his new phone in his other. His face was fixed in an expression of mulish discontent.

"Hey," Sam said carefully. Dean looked up, and Sam noticed his face was pale.

"Hey," his brother replied noncommittally.

"So, I uh, looked into that guy." Sam said. "The one the vamps wanted to sell us to." A ripple of alarm flickered across Dean's face and Sam swallowed. Did his brother know who this guy was? But the expression was gone and Sam decided discretion was the better part of valor, at least for now. He dumped his laptop on the table in front of his brother and watched his reaction closely. But Dean showed no sign of recognizing either man.

"So who is it?" he asked. "There's two different guys on your screen here." Sam gave a lopsided shrug..

"I don't know. I can't figure it out. Neither of them looks particularly threatening. And there's nothing in their biographies to suggest an interest in the supernatural or anything like that."

"Maybe it's an alias," Dean suggested. "These guys could just be innocent bystanders."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I thought of that."

"If Cas was here I'd ask him," Dean said in a thin voice. Sam flicked a concerned look at his brother.

"You did ask him," he said warily. "He said he didn't know the name."

"What? No, not that. I mean the other thing." Sam stared at him in confusion.

"What other thing?"

"The tribute." Dean said, his voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. Sam took a deep breath. He had no idea what Dean was going on about.

"What tribute?" He asked cautiously. Dean gave him an impatient look.

"The reason Santelli said this doctor dude wanted us. Don't you remember?" A cold feeling crawled down Sam's spine.

"No, Dean. I don't remember Santelli saying anything about why this guy was so interested in us. Except to comment that we'd pissed a lot of people off, which was hardly news." Dean's eyes shifted from side to side, in an expression so unlike him it took Sam a moment to recognize it. His brother was afraid. "Could it have been before I woke up?" Dean's knuckles were white on the neck of his beer bottle.

"Maybe," he allowed. "So, you didn't hear him talking about Cas either?" There was a slight wobble in Dean's voice and Sam's unease was increasing by the moment.

"No. Definitely not. What did he say about him?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly and Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't have mentioned it." Was this at the bottom of what had sent Dean into a tailspin after Boston?

"It's was just a lot of bullshit," Dean deflected, his face troublingly blank once more. "Insults and the like."

"OK," Sam said slowly. He really wanted to push harder, but if Dean shut down he'd get nowhere. "So, go back to the tribute thing. What was that?"

"I don't know. Just that Schatten had said I would be the perfect tribute."

"You?" Sam said in surprise. "Just you. Not us?" Dean's mouth tightened as he nodded.

"Yeah. Just me."

"Huh. Did they say why you were perfect?" Sam asked, his unease now threatening to blossom into something more urgent.

"I don't know."

"And you were going to mention this when?" Dean folded his arms over his chest.

"I didn't know you hadn't heard Santelli talking about it," he growled and Sam relented.

"All right. I'm going to see if I can dig up any more on this doctor." Dean gave him a stiff nod and he grabbed his laptop and headed back to his room.

* * *

Dean drained the last of the beer in his bottle and grimaced. He needed a recharge. He hauled himself out of his chair and shuffled off to the kitchen. As he pulled another bottle from the fridge, a sound caught his attention and he looked around to see Cas stagger into the kitchen.

"Cas!" he breathed in surprise. The angel looked like he might collapse. Dean abandoned his beer on the counter and grabbed Cas just before he slid to the floor, his eyes rolling in his head.

"Hey!" he cried. He dragged the angel over to a chair and managed to sit him in it. "Cas, you have to tell me what's going on," he insisted. "You disappear without warning, sometimes for days and when you show up again you look like something chewed you up and spat you out."

"I told you," Cas began and Dean shook his head.

"No, Cas. No way. Not this time. I wanna know what's going on," he said sternly. Cas sighed and after a moment seemed to come to a decision.

"It's a rescue mission," he said heavily. Dean frowned at him.

"A rescue mission?" he repeated stupidly. This was not the response he expected, although in truth he really didn't know what he had thought the angel was up to.

"Yes. I'm attempting the rescue of an angel trapped in Purgatory." Cas admitted. Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Purgatory? How did an angel end up there?" Another thought chased that one. "Didn't Naomi pull you out of Purgatory? Why can't you do the same thing?" Cas looked down and away.

"Rescuing me from Purgatory cost the lives of many angels," he reminded Dean, who frowned. "With Amara on the loose we cannot afford the loss." Dean stared at him, puzzled by this response.

"So, you want to rescue this one angel, and can't afford to lose a bunch of other angels in the rescue attempt. OK, I get that. But you're still trying on your own anyway. Why?"

"My brother's help with the Darkness will be invaluable." Cas told him and Dean gave him a skeptical look.

"But not so invaluable that Heaven is giving you the resources you need to do the job? This doesn't make any sense, Cas." The angel's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'm not actually doing this for Heaven," he confessed.

"Dammit, Cas, I thought we were done lying to each other!" Dean exploded and Cas gave him a strange look.

"I wanted Heaven's support," Cas continued after a long pause. "I begged them, not for my sake, but for his. But it seems the faction that controls Heaven right now doesn't think it worth the risk. I disagreed, and decided to attempt a rescue on my own. Lucien offered his help and we've been on a number of scouting missions. We have not been very successful. Lucien's knowledge of Purgatory is better than anyone's, but Purgatory is in a state of constant flux. Doorways open and close, the terrain shifts. Without the full power of Heaven and its angels, I fear we can do no more."

"So who is it?" Dean pressed. "Who are you so determined to rescue?" Cas swallowed and Dean felt a nauseating sense of anxiety.

"You have to promise not to tell Sam," Cas said softly. Dean stared at him, anxiety morphing into outright worry.

"Who is it, Cas?" he ground out, fear for Sam's welfare warring with his concern for Cas. The angel took a deep breath and looked up at Dean with a pleading expression.

"Gabriel."

* * *

Sam set up a fake email address, using a random name based on someone he'd known at Stanford and tapped out an email to each of the Dr Schatten's he'd found online.

 _Dear Dr. Schatten,_

 _I apologize for contacting you out of the blue, but I am looking for someone with your name who might have an interest in the occult. The person I am looking for is hunting for an artifact used as tribute and I believe I have a lead on its location. If you are the Dr. Schatten in question, please contact me to negotiate a price._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Daniel Krol_

Hopefully one of them would be the person they were seeking and would take the bait. He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair, stretching out the muscles in his back.

He was going to have to talk to Dean about returning to the Cage. He was certain now, between the dreams and the visions after his prayers, God was making himself quite clear what He wanted Sam to do. Sam's palms sweated at the idea of facing Lucifer again, but if it was what God wanted him to do, who was he to fight it? Dean would argue and try and twist out of his destiny, but Sam believed. Despite everything, he still believed that God would not let him down.

* * *

Dean breathed slowly, in and out, trying to settle his rollercoastering emotions. Cas watched him nervously.

"Gabriel. The archangel Gabriel, who, last I checked, was dead. Killed by Lucifer."

"Well, not quite." Cas admitted. Dean stood up, unable to contain the nervous energy thrumming through him.

"Not. Quite. What does that mean?"

"Even Gabriel doesn't know what happened. He was attempting some kind of trick, but that it didn't go as planned. The last thing he remembers is getting stabbed by Lucifer. Next thing he knows, he's in a gray forest." Dean's mouth tightened in remembrance.

"So how come we didn't run into him when we were trapped there?" he demanded. Cas shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know. Purgatory's a big place and we didn't cover even a tiny fraction of it. So, it's probably just bad luck."

"Bad luck? Why would not running into your dick of a brother be bad luck?" Dean snarled and then recoiled at the look of grief on Cas' face.

"Gabriel was my favorite brother. Before he left, that is. I was angry at him for leaving but I never stopped loving him. And when he came back and he helped you and Sam, at the sacrifice of his own life…" Cas broke off and Dean felt like an asshole.

"But something happened. He got punted into Purgatory instead?"  
"Yes. It's not what normally happens when angels die. But this time it did, and he's been trapped there ever since."

"OK. Why are we keeping this a secret from Sam?" Dean had a strange feeling he wasn't going to like the answer to this question. Cas' face was solemn.

"Sam would feel obligated to help and you have enough to deal with right now."

"All right," Dean agreed. "I'll keep it quiet for now. But if I think he needs to know, I'm telling him." Cas nodded in agreement.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Dean was going to kill him, Sam thought as he watched Lucifer pace back and forth, his eyes delighted at the trick he'd pulled. Damn Rowena, he should have known better than to trust her. Lucifer was suddenly much closer to him, staring as though awaiting the answer to a question.

"Uh, what?" A vicious smile spread across the archangel's face.

"Woolgathering, Sam? I would have thought your situation would have…" Lucifer trailed one icy finger up Sam's neck, watching him shiver. "...sharpened your focus somewhat."

"No, I uh… What was the question?" Sam stuttered, fear making his blood run sluggishly in his veins.

"Never mind. I've made the decision for you. I do like to cuddle, after all." Sam's eyes widened, now he thought about it, Lucifer had been saying something about bunks. The archangel was pressed against him, cold breath ghosting across his skin making goosebumps prickle and his breathing became ragged. Oh fuck, what was Lucifer going to do with him now? The last time in the Cage, Lucifer had enjoyed battering him with a variety of physical and mental tortures. And fucking Michael had sat and watched it all with cold indifference. Sam stepped away, unnerved.

"You. The visions. Everything. It was all you," he forced out and Lucifer gave him a smile.

"Impressive, right?" he asked, moving into Sam's personal space again.

"And Rowena?" Sam managed, his voice strained. Lucifer gave a careless gesture.

"Did as she was told. Groupies… " He rolled his eyes expressively. "They're always so eager."

"So you did all of that just to… to what?" Sam stuttered. "Jump my bones?"

"Literally," Lucifer said with a lascivious look. He tugged Sam towards him by his belt. Icy fingers began unbuttoning his jeans and Sam jerked away from the archangel in horror.

"Sam," Lucifer admonished. "No need to be coy."

"Leave me alone," Sam warned him, backing away as far as he could go.

"Or what?" Lucifer asked witheringly. He gestured at the cage, his smile broadening. "You don't get to set the rules in here." He prowled towards Sam, loose-limbed and relaxed but Sam wasn't fooled for a second. "It's been a long time, Sammy. I missed you." Strangely, Sam suspected this was true, if misleading.

"You missed having me to torture, you mean," Sam spat. Lucifer looked almost wounded.

"Now, Sam. The sex wasn't _that_ bad, was it?" Lucifer's expression was hungry and Sam turned his face away. "I admit having Michael and your half-brother for an audience didn't exactly add to the ambiance, but-" Lucifer broke off and gave a shiver of remembered pleasure. He crowded Sam against the bars of the cage and leaned in, tucking his nose into Sam's neck and inhaling his scent. Sam could feel cool huffs of breath against his skin, and then gentle strokes of Lucifer's tongue, the twin forks teasing at his nerve endings. He shuddered in a complex mix of revulsion and arousal. _Fuck._

"That's the spirit," Lucifer muttered against the cords of his neck. He pressed closer, nuzzling into Sam's throat and humming to himself.

"No!" Sam yelled and shoved the fallen angel away. "Get your filthy hands off me!" Lucifer's face twisted with anger, before he controlled himself with visible effort.

"I see. Well, perhaps I can convince you another way."

"You're wasting your time. I know how this ends." Sam said bitterly.

"Oh you do now," Lucifer said, sadistically amused.

"You've tried seduction and failed. So you'll taunt me and torture me and I'll still say no. And eventually, sooner than you think, my brother's gonna walk through that door and kick your ass." Sam was boldly defiant and utterly terrified, but he believed in Dean. Lucifer laughed at him.

"Dean? You're betting on Dean?" he chortled, incredulous.

"I always have," Sam asserted, unnerved that Lucifer was continuing this charade.

"Oh, Sam," Lucifer said softly. "You've got me all wrong." He was moving closer again and Sam's heart began to race.

"Ha," Sam said, sounding braver than he felt. "I doubt that."

"No, no. I'm not here to torture ya," Lucifer continued, ignoring him. "I mean I could." He continued to back Sam against the bars of the cage. "I could inflict pain like you can't even imagine. I was easy on you before. You have no idea. I could inflict such delicious, perfect pain." His face was so close to Sam's, his expression vicious. "But that was so five years ago. No, I'm not going to harm one glorious little hair on that glorious little head." Sam's eyes widened.

"Then what do you want?" he stammered. Lucifer shrugged.

"To make you an offer you can't refuse. You see, Sam, you need me. And I'm gonna prove it to you." He reached out one hand to Sam's forehead and there was a blinding flash of light.

* * *

Dean was not surprised to find Sam in the library, since his brother was a total book fiend even when there wasn't research to be done and God knew the kid needed the comforts of the familiar after his experience in Hell. But Sam wasn't reading or making notes or even surfing on his computer. Instead he was slouched in a chair, a half glass of bourbon in his hand and only a finger or so left in the bottle. The new bottle that Dean had only cracked open an hour ago.

"Hey, Sam," he said carefully. "What's up?" Sam's head lolled back and Dean's suspicion that Sam was drunk seemed well founded.

"Drinkin'," Sam slurred. His mouth was slack and his eyes unfocused as he looked up at his brother.

"I can see that," Dean observed, amusement and worry warring for dominance in his head. "What's the occasion?" Sam glared at him.

"S'been a dif- diffy- hard week," he managed and threw back the last of the bourbon in his glass.

"OK," Dean said slowly. "I get that. Being stuck in that cage with Lucifer wasn't a bundle of laughs. But you're out and we slammed that son of a bitch back where he belongs."

"S'not the point," Sam said sullenly. "You said wait, an' I ignored you. Let Rowena convince me to go it alone. I shoulda waited." Dean scratched at his stubble, wondering how to handle his brother's mood without making it worse.

"Yeah, well. What do you want me to say? Am I mad that you went off to Hell without me? Sure, I guess. But it's done. No harm, no foul, right?" Dean was actually considerably angrier with Sam than he was letting on, but with his brother in this state there was little point in having an argument about it. Sam was barely capable of stringing a sentence together. Sam stared morosely into his glass for a moment, then drained the last of the bottle into it.

"Do you like me?" he asked suddenly. Dean stared at him, what kind of a question was that? "What do you mean?" he said uncomfortably. "You're my brother." Sam waved an uncoordinated hand at him.

"Yeah, sure. I'm your brother, you love me." He swallowed more bourbon. "But d'you like me? Y'know, d'you like the person I am?" Dean's mouth dropped open. Where was _this_ coming from?

"Sure," he said easily, despite how uneasy this conversation was making him. "I mean, when you're not being a little bitch." But instead of cracking a smile, Sam's face began to crumple in an alarming fashion. "Hey, hey!" Dean said, "I was joking. Don't freak out on me, Sammy!" Sam shook his head slowly from side to side, his hair swinging in his eyes.

"If you're tellin' the truth, I think you're the only one," Sam said sadly. His eyes were watery, Dean realized as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "I mean, the life doesn't allow us to make many friends but still, Bobby liked you. And Charlie, and Ellen and Jo."

"They're all dead," Sam said with a heavy finality.

"Cas likes you," Dean said desperately. Sam frowned.

"Maybe. But it took him a long time. He didn't like me when he first knew me." Dean winced, that was true, if a little unfair.

"You still keep up with Garth, right? He likes you," Dean added. Sam gave a loaded sigh.

"Garth likes everyone. He's like a puppy." Dean suppressed a grin, Sam had a point even if it wasn't helpful to his case right now.

"Look, what do you want me to say?" Dean asked. "It's the life. It can be lonely. But we have each other, and Cas. That's a lot more than most hunters have."

"Lucifer said he didn't like me. That I was prissy." Oh, so now we're getting somewhere, Dean thought. He'd die rather than admit it, but Lucifer might actually have nailed it. But he was confused, who cares whether Lucifer likes you or not?

"Why do you care what that son of a bitch thinks about you? Why would you want him to like you?" As usual, Dean's confusion was translating into irritation.

"Never mind," Sam said, defeated. "Y'don' unnerstand." Dean slammed a hand down on the table. "Dammit, Sammy, I'm doing my best here. You're not making a lot of sense. Go sleep this off and we'll talk about it later." Sam rolled his eyes and dragged himself upright.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling noisily. "Whatever." He weaved towards the door and Dean watched him leave.

* * *

Lying on his back staring at the ceiling, Sam drunkenly pondered his conversation with his brother. Was he lonely? He shouldn't be, Cas and Dean were always around. But of course, their "profound bond" always made him feel like the third wheel. Sam's mouth twisted, he wasn't jealous. Not exactly. He just wanted someone to feel close to. Not his brother but a friend. Or more than a friend? When was the last time he'd even come close to… Oh. Yeah. Lucien. Sam didn't really expect to see him again. From what Cas had said that was probably wise. Having thought of him, Sam was thrown back into the memory of him and Lucien chatting together on the Impala, outside a sleazy motel in Tennessee. Sam felt his body twitch in remembrance. There was a buzzing sound from the nightstand. He looked over and pressed the button on his phone. Who the Hell was texting him at midnight?

 _Do you need company? L_

Sam's breath caught in his throat. No. It couldn't be. It was impossible. His phone buzzed again.

 _I can be there in a matter of moments if you want. L_

 _Who is this?_ Sam typed as though he had no idea.

 _You know perfectly well. L_

Sam twitched with conflicting desires. Part of him wanted to respond, invite the seductive, mysterious creature to come keep him company for a while. But the more sensible part thought that was a terrible idea. He had no idea what Lucien even was, or what he wanted. Sober, he'd probably have listened to that sensible part of his brain, but intoxication and misery had left him vulnerable and reckless. He swallowed.

 _OK. Yeah. I'd like to see you._ His finger hovered over the send button for a moment, then he took a deep breath and pushed it. He waited with breathless anticipation and was disappointed when no response was forthcoming. Was he being toyed with here? He sighed with frustration.

"Such a sad sound," a voice said from the other side of the room. Sam sat bolt upright to see Lucien lounging against the wall.

"Lucien," Sam breathed. "You came." Lucien gave him a wicked grin and Sam felt his cheeks reddening.

"So, Sam," Lucien said warmly. "You're lying awake, thinking about me. How can I be of service?" Sam gulped, nervous tension tightening his spine.

"I, uh, did you hear me? Uh, thinking about you?" he stammered. Lucien's grin got broader.

"Of course," he said easily and prowled towards the bed, making Sam feel like a cornered animal. The redhead pushed Sam back onto the mattress, and claimed his mouth. His tongue swept inside and Sam groaned and shivered. Lucien's hands seemed to be everywhere, sliding under his shirt and teasing along the waistband of his shorts. His teeth nipped at Sam's neck and he writhed at the sensation that washed over him.

"God! Lucien, I…" Lucien sat back on his heels and slowly stripped his button-down shirt from his body, his gaze steady on Sam, who could only watch, mesmerized. He stood and dropped his tailored slacks into a pile on the floor. Sam started to rise but Lucien pushed him back down and straddled his hips. He tugged Sam's t-shirt over his head and slid his shorts over his legs in quick succession. Then his mouth was on Sam's neck again and Sam clutched at him. He slid slowly down Sam's body, licking and biting as he went until Sam was nothing but need and panting desperation.

"Lucien, please!" he gasped. Lucien looked up from his position over Sam's groin and then he licked a slow line up the inside of Sam's thigh, and Sam cried out. "Lucien, if you don't do something this will all be over here and now!"

"Do something?" Lucien said insouciantly. "Like what, Sam. What do you want me to do?" Sam scrunched his eyes shut in concentration, willing himself to calm down before answering.

"You. I want you." he huffed. Lucien gave a sinful chuckle.

"Not good enough, Sam. I'll give you what you want, but you have to ask for it. Beg for it, even." Sam shivered, breathing raggedly. He swallowed.

"Fuck me," he said hoarsely. "I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my name." Lucien graced him with a delighted grin.

"By all means," he said and flipped Sam over so that he was pressed face first into the bed. Lucien's hands slid up the back of his thighs and teased across his buttocks and Sam's hips twitched. He was rewarded with a light slap.

"Now, now. Patience, Sam." Lucien chided. His fingers resumed their teasing dance and Sam bit into the sheets in breathless need.

"Please, Lucien," he whimpered. Apparently Lucien took pity on him and he felt his weight shift on the bed and then gasped as the redhead began to press insistently into him. He wiggled his hips to try and draw him in further and smiled at the bitten off curse from behind him. Lucien leaned forward and bit his ear.

"Eager, aren't we?" he growled, amused and aroused all at once. Sam nodded shamelessly and Lucien began to move, a slow, steady pace that had Sam panting and quivering.

"Yes," he bit out. "Need this. Need you. Oh God!" Lucien's hand slipped under his pelvis and gripped him firmly. Sam bit his lip and groaned. He wasn't going to be able to withstand this much longer, lust twisting in his abdomen and his body twitching and writhing as Lucien worked him mercilessly. The redhead's pace was becoming ragged and uncoordinated as he approached his climax and then Sam howled out his own release and Lucien bit hard at his shoulder with a growl.

* * *

Dean stood by the table, staring unseeingly at the empty bourbon bottle Sam had left behind. The conversation turned over in his mind, making him grimace. Who could understand what was going on in Sam's head sometimes? A flicker in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he looked at the library door to see Cas hovering.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted the angel tiredly. "What's up?"

"I'm just-" Cas said, his voice a little higher than usual. He coughed and tried again. "I'm just looking for something." Dean squinted at him, Cas was edgy and distant these days and although he'd die rather than admit it, he missed the angel's hovering presence in his mind and by his side.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, and Cas twitched as though irritated.

"A document referenced here," the angel said vaguely, waving a book in his hand. Dean nodded and shrugged.

"Don't let me stop you," he said easily. Cas shuffled into the room and Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how he'd managed to push the angel away.

"Have you spoken to Sam recently," he asked and Cas started in a way that seemed almost guilty.

"No," the angel rumbled. "Should I have?" Dean closed his eyes and tugged at his hair.

"No. I just had a weird conversation with him, that's all." He opened his eyes and Cas was staring at a shelf of books, mumbling to himself under his breath. "Apparently Lucifer told him he didn't like him, and for some reason that's got Sam all upset. I don't get it."

"Well, he obviously cares what Lucifer thinks," Cas observed sagely, his eyes still firmly on the bookcase. Dean made a rude sound.

"Why? Why the fuck would he care what that son-of-a-bitch thinks?" Cas turned to look at him, his face taking on a strange, pinched expression.

"I don't know," he said eventually. "Why shouldn't he?" Dean stared at the angel in naked astonishment.

"Because he's fucking Lucifer? Who wants to be liked by that asshole?" Cas shifted awkwardly and Dean got up and stalked over to him. "What's gotten into you, Cas?" he demanded. Cas blinked at the hunter suddenly in his face and gazed uncertainly into Dean's eyes. Dean watched him, a curious feeling passing over him. Normally, when he stared at Cas, _not stared dammit just looked_ , the angel's pupils would enlarge, giving him that feeling he was the center of the angel's attention. Not tonight. In fact he got the distinct impression Cas wished he was somewhere else. A worm of discomfort twisted in his chest. If he didn't know better, he'd say the angel was actually looking at him rather coldly. The warm affection he was so used to seeing in Cas' face only obvious to him now it was not there.

"Lucifer doesn't lie," Cas was saying. "But that doesn't mean he wouldn't present things in a certain way in order to convince the listener to do what he wants. In this case, agree to be his vessel again." Dean gaped at him.

"Of course he fucking lies, are you kidding me?" Cas looked away. "I know he's your brother, Cas. But come on. Look at the lies he told Sam when the Apocalypse was going down!" Cas' gaze shot back to Dean's, his eyes surprisingly savage.

"They weren't lies! I didn't-" His voice had started to pitch upwards again and Dean wondered what on earth was going on with the angel tonight. "I didn't hear Lucifer actually lie to Sam about anything," Cas said in a more normal tone. "Heaven told plenty of lies, but not Lucifer." Dean stepped back, his fists clenching in agitation.

"I can't believe you're actually defending him," Dean told the angel incredulously.

"I'm not," Cas defended. "I'm just saying, I'm not aware that Lucifer lied to Sam. It's kind of a thing with him. He always said he doesn't lie because he doesn't have to." Dean huffed out a breath of irritation and turned away.

"Whatever," he said, defeated and dispirited by his brother and his angel. "It's not important. Sam didn't fall for his bullshit. That's all that matters." He walked out of the library without looking back, missing the relieved expression that settled on the Cas' face.

* * *

Sam stretched out his sore muscles and gave a contented sigh. Lucien had vanished at some point and he was a little sorry about that, but he hadn't really expected him to stay. Pressure in his bladder forced him out of bed and into the bathroom.

After performing some perfunctory ablutions, he ambled out into the hall and down to the kitchen. Dean was drinking coffee and eating a Danish pastry. He waved a paper bag at Sam and then nodded to the coffee machine. Sam grinned.

"You look good, considering," Dean observed. Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Weird, right?" He said, unable to suppress the lightness of his mood. "I got the best night sleep I've had in forever." Dean pulled a face.

"Glad someone's getting some sleep," he said sourly. Sam looked more closely at his brother. Dean's face was drawn and his eyes had dark circles beneath them.

"More nightmares?" He asked sympathetically. Dean nodded. "Where was Cas?"

"No idea," Dean told him, his bad mood now more understandable. "I haven't seen him since last night."

"OK." Sam pulled his laptop over and logged into his email. "Well, I guess he's still working on ways to defeat Amara." Dean twitched at the mention of her name.

"Yeah, I guess. Are you OK now?" He asked. Sam stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"I'm sorry about last night," Sam said carefully. "I guess I freaked you out." Dean's mouth quirked upwards.

"A bit," he admitted. He scrutinized Sam until his brother began to squirm. "All right. I'll leave you alone." Sam was frowning at his computer. "What's up?"

"I emailed those two Dr. Schatten's that I found," Sam explained. "The surgeon guy emailed back to say he didn't have any interest in the occult and wasn't the one I was looking for. The other guy, the history professor at Maryland wrote back a weird response."

"OK, what was it?" Dean asked impatiently. Sam rotated his laptop so Dean could read the email.

 _Dear Sam,_

 _Thanks but I've got what I want for now. Tell Dean I will speak to him again soon. Does he know you're trying to sell him out?_

 _T_

Dean looked at Sam, angry and horrified. "The fuck?"

"Yeah. I don't know how he knew it was me, there was no way to trace that email address. Charlie taught me how to set up untraceable accounts. So, you've spoken to this guy? And why did he sign the message, T?" Dean's face was pale and he swallowed, sweat beading on his upper lip.

"I had a… dream. I was back in Purgatory, on my own. I met a, I dunno what the Hell it was. Some kind of monster. Called itself Tenebrae." Sam gasped. "What?"

"Don't you see? Schatten is German for shadow. Tenebrae is a Latin word for shadow."

"OK, what does that mean? Are you saying this is related to Amara?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Maybe. But to form a shadow you need light, so I don't know. What did it say?"

"Nothing much really. It wants me for something, but it was a bit squirrelly about exactly what. Apparently it has a beef with Metatron, and it needs help from me."

"And you said fuck off?" Sam asked, watching his brother closely. Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"I said I'd think about it. I've got no love for Metatron, the crawling little toad, but I don't trust this Tenebrae or whatever it wants to call itself. Maybe it's a trick. It was in my head after all."  
"You think it picked Metatron's name out of your mind, knowing you hate him and wouldn't care if something bad happened to him, to make you more likely to agree?" Sam asked.

"Something like that, yeah."

"And where was Cas during all of this? I know you said you haven't seen him since last night, but isn't he supposed to be hanging out in your brain, keeping you free of nightmares? How come he didn't notice another intruder in your head?" Dean flinched and Sam stared at him.

"This was when Cas was AWOL." Sam nodded to himself. Of course, Tenebrae probably waited for an opportunity when the angel was absent. Sam's laptop made a soft dinging sound.

"I've got a message," Sam said. "It's from Astrid."

"Astrid. Weird hippy Pennsylvania Astrid?" Dean asked, his eyebrows diving over his nose.

"I don't know. I mean, it's not that common a name. Who else could it be? But I don't know how she got my email address."

"Are all the monsters hackers for Anonymous now?" Dean snarked. "What does it say?" Sam looked uncertain for a moment.

"She has a case for us," he said. Dean blinked in surprise.

"A case?"

"Yeah. She said she might have more work for us, remember?" Dean gave a half-hearted shrug. "I guess she meant it. OK, let's hear it," his brother said after a moment's silence.

"Have you ever heard of the Wild Hunt?" Sam asked him and Dean's face took on a stricken expression for a moment before hardening.

"Uh, I seem to remember reading something in Dad's journal." Sam looked startled.

"I didn't know Dad had faced the Hunt," he remarked. Dean shook his head.

"No. I don't think he did. It was a passing reference, nothing more." Sam peered at him.

"And yet you remember it," he said slowly. Dean's face went completely blank. When he didn't add anything more, Sam continued, although he watched his brother's reaction closely. "OK, well, there are lots of versions of the myth all over Europe. Seeing the Wild Hunt was thought to be a bad omen, that there was a war coming or plague, stuff like that. Also, if you came across the Hunt some myths say you would be abducted to the underworld or the fairy kingdom. Or people's spirits could be pulled away during their sleep to join the Hunt." Dean shoved his chair back suddenly, half standing, and Sam stared at him. "Are you OK?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry, you were saying?" Dean lowered himself back into his seat and Sam looked back at his email.

"Well, Astrid claims that the Hunt is active again. In a tiny town called Brooks, Oregon."

"OK. Active how?" Dean said, but he sounded distracted.

"Four men are missing. Drinking buddies, all vanished one night after closing time. A witness claims she saw the Hunt take them away," Sam recited from Astrid's email. Dean perked up.

"A sober witness?"  
"She's a nun."

Dean grinned at that. "A sexy nun?" he asked hopefully. Sam made a pretence of checking.

"Sure. If you go for the more mature lady." Dean didn't look discouraged. "She's ninety, Dean." His brother's shoulders slumped.

"Of course she is. OK, I see why this is our thing but why does Astrid want us to check it out?"

"Because she claims the leader of the Wild Hunt, Nuada, has a sword called Bhás an Dorchadas. That means 'the dark death' or put it another way-"

"Death of the Darkness." Dean finished for him.

"Maybe." Sam spread his hands. "You wanna check it out?"

"Sure. Lemme call Cas, see what he thinks." Dean said, pulling out his phone. He punched up Cas' number and let the phone ring out. Cas' confused voicemail message echoed in the kitchen.

"Hey, Cas. We've got a lead on some kind of magic sword, something to do with the Wild Hunt. Gimme a call."

"What about the other way?" Sam said cautiously and Dean scowled. But he closed his eyes for a moment and reached out to the angel. There was no response.

"I guess he's out of range," Dean said jokingly although it sounded strained. "Fine. Let's head out to Oregon. We've got nothing else to follow up right now."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

David Matthews, the Marion County Sheriff, was a short, wiry man that gave the impression of compact strength. He was watching Dean with a jaundiced eye as he introduced himself and Sam as FBI agents looking into the four men who'd gone missing.

"I don't remember calling in the feds," he said, hostility radiating off him. Sam schooled his features into a look of stern sympathy.

"No, my partner and I were called in because of similarities to a cold case of ours." He felt Dean twitch beside him.

"A cold case?" Matthews said disbelievingly. "Where?"

"Yeah. Two men went missing in Electron, Washington. They were friends and had been spotted drinking together in their local bar before they disappeared." Matthews frowned at him in disbelief.

"When was this? I don't remember hearing about it." Sam gave him an apologetic smile.

"This was in 1972. Before I was born." Matthews snorted and unbent a little.

"Me too. OK. So did they ever find them?" Sam shook his head.

"No. They even dredged the rivers and lakes nearby."

"So how did a case older than you end up on your desk?" Matthews challenged, but he was not as unfriendly as before.

"It standard procedure," Dean explained. "The original investigating agents retired and their cold cases were passed to us." Matthews nodded.

"Well, there's not much to tell you. Miles Gage, Jared Pickle, Nick Murphy and Johnny Cooke grew up together here. They had a regular Friday night meetup, beer and pool. I picked Nick up a couple times for DUI. Miles had a conviction for marijuana possession from his college days. Jared and Johnny were clean. Just normal guys, you know."

"Any of them married?" Sam asked.

"Just Jared. Miles is divorced. Johnny never married but he's got a kid in Portland, so there must have been a girl at one time. Nick was never much of a one for the ladies, you know." Sam nodded and made a couple notes in his notebook.

"Any CCTV?" Dean asked. Matthews shook his head.

"Brooks is a small town. Tiny. Nothing ever happens there. All we got was a statement from the barman, stating that they showed up at 9:30 and they all left around 11pm. And that's the last anyone saw of them." A line appeared between Sam's eyebrows.

"Wasn't there another witness? A nun?" he asked and the sheriff's face grew scornful.

"Yeah. Two actually. Sister Angelica is the nun," Matthews told him. "And Theresa Miller saw something too, but she's nuts," he scoffed.

"Still, we'd like to talk to them both if we can." The sheriff shrugged.

"You're wasting your time. But knock yourselves out. Sister Angelica's staying at her brother's house in town. Peter's in Peru, doing missionary work and she's living there until he gets back. Theresa's normally hanging out around the Catholic church on Portland Road." He turned back to the bar where the men had disappeared and gestured around at the surrounding businesses, mostly second-hand car dealerships. "This is a busy road. By Brooks standards, anyway. But nobody saw a thing, other than Sister Angelica and crazy Theresa. It's funny." Sam exchanged a look with Dean.

"Thanks for your time, Sheriff." Dean said.

* * *

The church Matthews had mentioned was not far and almost immediately Sam spotted a hunched figure leaning on the roadside sign. He nudged Dean, who swung the Impala into the parking lot and jumped out.

"Theresa Miller?" Sam called out. The figure looked up. She was about Sam's age, although it was a little hard to tell because her hair was a wild tangle and her clothes were ill-fitting and ragged.

"Theresa's not here today," the woman said. Her eyes were different colors, Sam noticed. One was light brown and seemed normal, the other was pale blue and the pupil was so wide only a sliver of iris remained.

"OK," Sam replied gently. "Who are you?"

"My name is Holda," she told him defiantly, as though he might contradict her.

"OK. Do you know where we might find Theresa?"

"I told you, she's not here," Holda insisted. She tugged at her cardigan in a rhythmic fashion, and it seemed to calm her.

"Yeah, I got that," Sam said. "Do you know where she is?"

"Elsewhere." Holda peered at them both. "You're here about the men who disappeared?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You know anything about that?"

"They're gone to the Hunt," she declared, rocking back and forth.

"The hunt?"

"The Wild Hunt. They asked, and Nuada answered."

"I don't understand," Sam confessed. "What do you mean, they asked. Asked for what?"

"What do such men always want?" Holda snarled. "Be careful what you ask for, isn't that what they say? Nobody ever listens." Sam rolled his eyes. They weren't going to get very far like this.

"Look, all we want to do is find them and return them to their families," he said patiently.

"Should have thought of that before they went messing with things they didn't understand," Holda snapped. "Too late now. Too late, too late."

"Theresa!" A voice called from the church and both Winchesters looked up to see a young man in a clerical collar jogging across the grass towards them.

"Theresa's not here," Holda said.

"I see," the priest said sadly. "Gentlemen, I'm Father Adams. Theresa here is a bit… confused. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Dean pulled out his FBI badge and flashed it quickly at the startled priest and Sam followed suit.

"The FBI?" He squeaked and looked nervous.

"Yeah. We're here about the disappearance of-"

"Ah, the men who disappeared last week," Father Adams said. He still looked uncomfortable and Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

"Did you know any of the missing men?" Dean asked aggressively, having picked up on the priest's demeanor.

"N-No," Father Adams stuttered. "Well, not really. I knew Nicholas a little. But none of the others." Sam raised an eyebrow at him and the man began to shake. Holda, or Theresa, glared at him.

"Leave him alone," she growled. "Father Adams is a nice man." Dean shifted his stance and the priest gave him an alarmed look.

"Four men are missing. Nobody saw anything, except some nun and Theresa…"

"And she's crazy. I know. But I swear, I only knew Nicholas and I didn't seen any of them the night they disappeared." Adams insisted. "Sister Angelica is around somewhere, but I couldn't say where." He turned away and the Winchesters watched Father Adams gently herd Holda or Theresa or whatever her name was into the church.

"He seemed jumpy," Dean observed quietly.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "You think he knows something?"

"Maybe," Dean said thoughtfully. "But it's just a feeling. Let's go talk to Jared Pickle's wife." Sam followed his brother back to the car and was startled by the buzz of his cell. He pulled it out and squinted at it, opening the newly delivered text message.

 _I'll meet you at your motel tonight. A._

He climbed into the car. "I just got a text. I think it's from Astrid." He showed the message to Dean, who read it and nodded.

"OK. So where do we find Mrs Pickle?" Sam flicked through his notes.

"Uh, she works at a golf club in Salem. You want to drive down and talk to her now, or wait until she comes home?" Dean thought about it for a moment.

"Is there anyone else here worth talking to?" He asked. Sam flicked through his notes again.

"Miles Gage's ex-wife moved to New York, so that's a bust. Hey, Nick Murphy's brother works at the tire and lube place about a half mile from here. You wanna check that out and we'll wait for Jacinta Pickle to get home from work?" Dean nodded and started the engine.

* * *

The man changing a tire on a muddy Jeep Cherokee looked exactly like the Nick Murphy mugshot the sheriff had given him. Sam exchanged a look with Dean. The man stood and wiped his hand on a rag and came walking over.

"You the feds?" He asked without preamble. Sam flashed his badge.

"Special Agent Shuman. This is my partner, Special Agent Homme." The man nodded and stuck out his hand.

"John Murphy, Nick's brother," he offered. Sam narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, identical twins."

"OK. What can you tell us about Nick?" Sam asked.

"What do you want to know?" John asked. "I mean, we look identical but we're really different personality wise."

"Such as?" Dean prompted.

"Well, I'm not much of a one for socializing. Nick's more of a party animal." At Sam's raised eyebrow he laughed. "Not in Brooks. This is a pretty quiet town. He goes up to Portland, likes the scene up there."

"The scene?" Sam pressed, a thought occurring to him.

"Nick's gay," John said easily. "It's not easy, in a small town like this. So, he prefers the city if he's looking to score."

"Has his orientation ever caused any problems here?" Sam asked cautiously, not wanting to offend the man.

"Nah. But Brooks is so tiny, everyone knows everyone else's business. And as far as I know, there aren't that many other gay men here. Not much of a pond to fish in, if you see what I mean." There was a slightly furtive look in John's eyes.

"Was Nick seeing anyone? Not just a casual hookup, I mean." Sam watched a flicker of something pass across John's face.

"No," he said, but he was tense and his voice was a little strained.

"Are you sure about that?" Dean asked, obviously picking up on the same tension Sam had noticed. John's face hardened.

"If he was, he never mentioned it to me," he insisted. "Now, is there anything else I can help you with."

"The guys he was drinking with," Sam said smoothly. "Friends from high school?" John nodded.

"Elementary school, more like."

"And none of them had a problem with Nick?" John shook his head vehemently.

"No. No way. Those four have been solid friends forever. When Nick came out to them in senior year, Miles just laughed and told him they already knew and didn't care." John smiled to himself. "Nick was so happy that night, he'd been terrified of telling them after how upset Mom and Dad were. Of course they didn't disown him or anything like that, but Dad's a traditional guy you know. Mom's come around since then. Especially since Father Adams took over from old Father Wall when he passed. Wall was a traditional Catholic, but this Adams guy is more in the mold of the current pope if you know what I mean." Sam nodded and made a show of writing something in his notes.

So, you and Nick still attend the church?" Dean asked casually. John laughed.

"Me, not so much. But yeah, Nick's a regular now." Dean raised his eyebrows and John glared at him.

"Not like that. I just mean… Hell. He's a priest. They're supposed to be celibate."

"It being forbidden doesn't mean he couldn't feel an attraction," Sam pointed out, trying to ignore the way Dean jerked at his words. John's mouth twitched.

"Maybe. But I'd swear that nothing was going on." He broke off shaking his head. Sam thought he knew how he felt.

"I think we'd better have another word with the priest," Dean said roughly. Sam scratched at his chin and nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed heavily. "I think you're right."

* * *

The church was cool and quiet. There was no sign of Father Adams or any parishioners. Sam eyed the altar contemplatively. Dean nodded at the confessional and elbowed Sam in the ribs.

"What?"

"Go on, dude. I'll keep an eye open for the nun." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going into the confessional, Dean," he said firmly. Dean shrugged.

"Fine, I'll do it. You stay here." He ambled off towards the booth but there was a tightness across his shoulders. Sam bit his lip. Maybe he should have just done what his brother wanted.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Dean said when the shutter opened. He sighed. What else was he supposed to say? There was an expectant silence. "Uh, it's been uh, a really long time since my last confession." He peered at the shadowy figure on the other side of the screen but couldn't make out any features. Still the priest said nothing.

"So, uh. This is kind of awkward. I uh, I've been feeling these strange uh, inappropriate yeah, that's the word, uh feelings about a friend of mine." He coughed uncomfortably. What the Hell was he doing? Why hadn't he just made up some bullshit? "I… I mean, he… Well. Yeah." He continued incoherently. This was a terrible idea.

"Why do you say the feelings are inappropriate?" Adams voice came softly through the screen.

"Well, uh. First of all, he's uh a he," Dean muttered. "I'm not like homophobic or nothing. But I'm not gay either. And then, he's like my best friend. We've been through everything together. A lot of bad stuff. And you know, we've not always had each other's backs when we should have. But, it's… him. You know. We always forgive each other. Our friendship is stronger than anything that's been thrown at it over the years. So I shouldn't fu- uh mess things up with stupid feelings that he doesn't want and I don't want either.", Dean's throat was threatening to close on him. "And he's an angel, so there's that," he said in a rush. There was silence from Father Adams. "Well, uh. Good talk. Confession. Whatever."

"Wait." Father Adams' voice was low and Dean had to struggle to hear him. "You say your friend is an angel. I assume you're talking metaphorically." Dean didn't bother to correct the assumption. "So your friend is very devout and you think he will reject you if you make your feelings known to him."

"Yeah. I guess," Dean sighed.

"What if you're wrong?" Adams asked, gently. Dean started at the thought.

"What? I'm not wrong," he denied emphatically. Fuck, he was in over his head. What the Hell had possessed him to start talking like this now?

"Just speaking hypothetically, what if you told your friend about these… feelings… and he told you that he felt the same way?" God, it was hard to breathe in here, Dean thought, frantically tugging at his collar.

"I uh. Well. No. I can't even start thinking like that," he said urgently. "Look, I know you're trying to help but I can't. I can't do this. I'm sorry." He lurched to his feet. This had been a seriously terrible idea.

"Please, son. Just hear me out," Adams insisted. Dean slumped back down onto the bench.

"If, and I'm not saying this would ever happen, if I told C- uh, him, and he didn't like run away screaming. I uh… I dunno. Aren't you supposed to tell me it's a sin and give me a bunch of prayers and stuff? Not encourage me to tell C- uh my friend that I've been secretly… feeling things?"

"I-" Father Adams made a strange hiccuping sound. "I know how you feel." Dean's head swam with the surreal turn this confession was taking. "I've been where you are now."

"OK," Dean said slowly. "What happened?"

"I told N- him how I was feeling, and to my horror he said he felt the same way."

"Horror," Dean repeated stupidly.

"I'm a priest! I was hoping he'd be disgusted and stop coming to Mass. And then I wouldn't be tempted any more. But he… Oh God!" There was a rustling sound and then footsteps. Dean dived out of the confessional to see the back of Father Adams running out of the door of the church. He looked around, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Goddammit!" He dashed after Father Adams.

* * *

Sam had gotten bored of sitting around the church and had headed outside, vaguely hoping he might run into Theresa again. But she wasn't there and so he was left to lean against a wall and think. Dean had been in that confessional a really long time, and Sam hoped he might be working through some real issues. And pigs might sprout wings and fly away, of course. He was startled by the church door banging open and Father Adams fleeing out of the church as though Hellhounds were on his tail. He stepped into the priest's path and the smaller man, head down and not looking where he was going, collided with him with a grunt. Sam gripped his shoulders.

"Father Adams? Are you all right?" The priest twisted in his grasp.

"Yes, I'm fine. Let me go." Sam spotted his brother tumbling out of the church.

"Did Dean upset you?" Sam asked. Adams looked up guiltily into Sam's eyes.

"No, it's not his fault. Please let me go."

"No way," Dean said firmly. "Not until you tell us what you know about Nick Murphy's disappearance."

"I don't know anything!" Adams howled. "Nick and I were supposed to meet at his apartment at 11pm." Sam exchanged a look with Dean. "But he wasn't there. The neighbor told me he'd gone out with his friends about an hour before I got there. I thought he'd… changed his mind. So I went home."

"Changed his mind about what?" Sam pressed, and then let go of the man when Dean shook his head. Adams pulled away.

"It's not important. I have to go." He twisted away and broke into a run. Dean caught Sam's elbow.

"Leave him. He's had a hard day." Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Wanna fill me in?"

"Father Adams there was in love with Nick Murphy. Or in lust at least. He confessed all, hoping Nick would be angry and stop coming to church. Turns out Nick had a thing for the priest too. I guess that's why he invited him over."

"Did they… I mean uh-" Dean shook his head.

"I don't know but I doubt it. I think this all happened the night Nick and his friends vanished and Adams here thought Nick had changed his mind. Then he couldn't tell anyone what he knew, that Nick Murphy went to the bar much later than what the barman said in the police report."

"OK," Sam said slowly, thinking hard. "So what does that mean?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "But something smells off. How do we know Nick was in that bar at all?"

"The barman and several patrons all reported seeing him with the others," Sam pointed out.

"Sure," Dean said easily. "They saw one of the Murphy twins."

Sam blinked as that sunk in."You think it was John in the bar that night?" he breathed

"Maybe. And that means we didn't talk to John this morning, we talked to Nick."

"I'm still confused," Sam huffed. "What difference does it make?"

"Why pretend to be John?" Dean said insistently. "Why all of this charade?" Sam chewed on his lip for a moment. "He knows something. He must."

"Let's say you're right," Sam allowed. "What does that mean?"

"It means Father Adams might know too. So we follow him." He nodded in the direction of the fleeing priest. "I'm guessing he'll head straight to the garage where John works."

* * *

It would be nice if Dean could be wrong about something, just for once, Sam thought. They'd followed Father Adams to Mendelsohn's Tire and Lube and found him in deep conversation with "John" Murphy. They were standing very close, and staring intently at each other as they spoke. Sam elbowed Dean.

"You were right," he told him.

"I'm always right," Dean said modestly. "What am I right about now?"

"That's Nick, not John." Sam said patiently. Dean peered at the two men and then cast a glance at Sam.

"How can you tell?" He asked. "John and Nick look identical to me." Sam laughed softly.

"Look at how they're standing. Straight guys don't stand that close to one another."

"Cas stands that close to me," Dean objected and Sam laughed harder.

"I rest my case," he said and Dean scowled at him. He pushed away from the tree they were hiding behind and strolled casually over to the two men.

"Father Adams," he said, relaxed and friendly. Adams stiffened. "And John. Or is it Nick?"

"People often get us confused," John said comfortably. "But it's Nick who's missing."

"Is it?" Sam said, one hand on his hip. "Because if that's the case, you seem awfully friendly with the priest for a man who supposedly hardly ever goes to church. A priest who had just confessed his forbidden love to your brother."

"Fuck."

"Nick…"

"Leave it, Jamie. All right, you sons of bitches. Yes, it was John who went missing. Messed up everything."

"You wanna explain, maybe?" Dean said pointedly.

"We were going to leave town, together. Jamie was going to give up the church, or I dunno convert or something. To a more open and less judgemental faith. I hated my job and although I've got great friends, I wanted more from life than being stuck in some little town. So we were going go to San Francisco, where nobody would care who we were or tell us we couldn't be together. I lied to you about how our parents felt about me coming out. Dad wasn't just upset. He was pissed. Beat seven shades of Hell out of me that night. Kicked me out. Stopped me seeing my mom, and even told John to stay away from me. John ignored him, and Mom would sneak over to my apartment sometimes. But Dad was adamant that I was no longer his son." Adams was holding onto Nick's hand, tears running down his face.

"John agreed to take my place Friday night. To make it more difficult for Dad to find out what had happened. We didn't want him to follow us."

"OK, but why do you think he would do that? You came out in senior year? No offence but that was years ago."

"Dad's running for mayor of Salem. Bad enough to have a gay son, he told me I needed to keep my nose clean until after the election. Running away with the Catholic priest would have been a huge scandal."

"OK, makes sense. So what went wrong?"

"John called me around 10, it was hard to hear what he was saying but I could hear all these dogs barking. They don't allow dogs in the bar so I don't know where he was calling from. Then I heard screaming. I ran out of here and told my neighbor to tell anyone who was looking for me that I'd left with my friends. I was still hoping we could pull this off." He shifted his free hand to Adams' hip and the priest swayed forward. Dean cleared his throat theatrically.

"OK. So did you find your brother and your friends?"

"No. I didn't even know where to start looking. I went over to the bar and Jake, the barman, said they'd left about an hour ago. It was just before 11pm by the time I spoke to him. I was frantic but what could I do? I called Jacinta, Jared's wife and she said he hadn't come home. So I called the police. Turns out Sister Angelica had just made her report about seeing them with a group of hunters. Not regular hunters, the old fashioned kind you know with hounds and horses. Like in England."

"Who hunts with hounds round here?" Sam asked gently.

"Nobody I know," Nick said. "You can only hunt certain animals with hounds. Foxes, bobcats. Maybe raccoons too, I can't remember. Most of my friends who hunt like bigger game." Adams shuddered with apparent disgust.

"OK, I think we're done here. Stick around, willya?" Dean drawled. "We might have more questions for you." Adams nodded and his gaze flicked questioningly to Sam. Dean shook his head and the priest nodded.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

"You wanted to talk," Cas said, eyeing Lucifer as he leaned back on the park bench. His brother had assumed the blond-haired form of Nick for this meeting, much to Cas' relief. He looked around and then raised an eyebrow at Cas.

"Where are we?" he asked curiously.

"A memory. An old one. It's not important," Cas said impatiently.

Lucifer laughed. "OK, OK. I'll get to the point. What's the deal with you and Dean Winchester?" Cas went rigid, which only made Lucifer laugh harder.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. Lucifer raked a hand through his hair and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"There's something strange about your relationship. I want to know what it is."

"There's nothing strange about it. We're friends." Lucifer wagged a finger at him, amused.

"Nuh uh. No dice, Castiel. You and Sam are friends, sure. But you and Dean, no. Not friends." Castiel looked hurt.

"I am his friend. I don't know why-" Lucifer leveled a look at him.

"You can't lie to me Castiel. I'm in your head, remember." Cas rolled his eyes.

"How could I forget?" he asked bitterly.

"So…", Lucifer said, drawing the word out. "Not friends. Lovers?" Cas jerked in shock and turned his face away. "Not lovers then. But not for lack of interest on your part, hmm?"

"Enough," Cas said angrily. "We're done here." Lucifer grinned at him.

"You even talk like him now," he said easily. "Poor Castiel, hopelessly in love with a human who can never return that love." Cas snarled at him but couldn't dissolve the dream state. Lucifer was stronger than he was and right now his brother was determined to get some kind of confession out of him.

"Yes, all right," he growled at his brother. "So what? What difference does it make to you? I said yes to you to get your help in defeating the Darkness. None of this is any of your concern. Nor do I understand why you even care!"

"I don't care, exactly," Lucifer admitted. "I don't see the appeal personally. I was curious, that's all."

"Well, you have your answer now. Let me go." Lucifer continued to regard him with that wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. It did not bode well.

"Do you want me to help you?" Lucifer said casually.

Cas stared at him in horror. "No! Don't interfere, please. I'm happy with how things are," he told his brother urgently.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Lucifer mocked. "Fine, you don't want my help. I hear you. I might even listen." Cas grabbed his arm in alarm.

"Please, brother. Don't do anything to Dean. Do what you came here to do and nothing more. Please."

Lucifer's face went hard and he plucked Cas' hand from his arm. "You don't call the shots here anymore, little brother," he said, his voice soft with menace. Cas gulped with fear, but something was off-kilter here. Why was Lucifer so interested in his relationship with Dean?

"Is this about you and Sam?" he asked suddenly and Lucifer rocked back in astonishment.

"Sam?" he choked. Cas watched him cautiously.

"Why _did_ you tell Sam you didn't like him?" he pressed. Lucifer's face transformed, vicious and angry.

"I _don't_ like him. What's your point?" Cas' gaze was intent and knowing.

"For someone who prides himself on not lying, you do so very easily, brother." Lucifer stood up and loomed over Cas, but the confusion on his face robbed the action of its threat.

"I don't lie. Sam's a prudish, jumped-up little fuck and I-" he broke off and forced out a laugh. "Touché, Castiel. OK, I'll leave Dean alone, for now. But we will speak on this again."

"Awesome," Cas said sarcastically.

* * *

Sam threw himself down on the motel bed with a groan. "This case. God! It's like some badly written soap opera!" he exclaimed and Dean laughed.

"Yeah. And other than a report of a bunch of fox hunters from an elderly nun and the nutty ramblings of crazy Theresa, we've got nothing." He tossed the pizza box onto his bed and ambled over to the fridge with the six-pack of beer they'd picked up. He pulled one out and twisted off the cap.

"Beer?" Sam flashed him a thumbs up and sat up, holding out one hand. Dean gave him a bottle and then opened the pizza box and liberated a slice. Sam swallowed half the beer in one go and then dived in, grabbing pizza and dangling strings of stray cheese into his mouth. Dean grinned at him. They ate in comfortable silence and then lay back on their beds digesting their food and the events of the day.

"So," Sam said after a while. "What's next?" Dean sighed.

"No idea. I guess we try to find Sister Angelica." There was a knock at the door and Sam jumped up warily. He padded over to the door, his gun in one hand and peered out of the peephole. An elderly woman in a nun's habit stood patiently outside the door.

"Speak of the devil," Sam said to Dean's baffled expression. "Or rather, nun. There's a nun outside the door."

"Sister Angelica?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged and Dean made a gesture to indicate he should open the door.

"Sam! Dean!" The nun exclaimed. "How are you both?" Sam stared at her like she'd grown an extra head and she grinned. She closed the door behind her and the Winchesters gaped at her as she morphed into the more familiar form of Astrid.

"Uh, hi," Sam said intelligently.

"Are you really Sister Angelica, or just pretending to be her?" Dean demanded. Astrid twinkled at him.

"I made her up," she admitted. "Can't get more incorruptible than an elderly nun, right?" She winked at Sam and he smiled that strange, serene smile at her. Dean glared at his brother.

"OK, so did you really see the Wild Hunt at all, or was that made up too?" Dean challenged. Astrid gave him an innocent look but he was unmoved.

"Yes, I saw it. I had tracked the Hunt here from the Czech Republic. Someone called it here. Calling the Hunt is not easy, it requires a great deal of power and even then, the Hunt is more likely to come after you than do what you ask."

"So how do you know these sorry sons of bitches didn't call the Hunt themselves?" Dean growled.

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "Must you be so rude?" Dean stared at him.

"It's OK, Sam. I'm not upset. Your brother is under a lot of stress. I know because I recognized the signature of the caster. He's called the Hunt before."

"Electron, Washington." Sam suggested and Astrid nodded.

"That was a long time ago. So that rules out the four who disappeared." Dean said thoughtfully.

"And Nick and Father Adams." Sam pointed out. Astrid blinked in surprise.

"Nick is one of the four," she said slowly. "Do you mean his brother John?" Sam laid out the whole story for her, with occasional sarcastic comments from Dean. She beamed at Sam in pure delight.

"I knew asking you boys to investigate was the right thing to do!" she declared and Sam preened at her praise, making Dean growl at her.

"Was there ever any doubt?" she ignored him.

"OK, so to call the Hunt requires a spell?" Sam said, changing the subject.

"Yes, a ritual. It's old magic, and it requires some very specific ingredients." Astrid explained. "A tree killed by a lightning strike, the blood of a stillborn child, the tear of a virgin maid and the tooth of a monster killed by a knight."

"Not exactly available in your local Walmart," Sam said, wincing.

"Especially the virgin's tears," Dean snarked and Sam shot him a hard look.

"OK, so you could probably get the blood from a hospital. And I'm sure getting a virgin's tears isn't that hard. A tree killed by a lightning strike, we can ask the sheriff about that. Is that where the ritual has to take place?" Astrid nodded and Sam continued, "The only tricky one here that I can see is the monster's tooth. Killed by a knight? How the Hell do we come up with one of those?"

"Monster killed by a knight," Dean said levelly. "Like an afanc killed by one of King Arthur's knights, maybe?" Astrid eyes lit up.

"That would be perfect. Do you have such a thing?" There was a strange cracking sound and Sam realized to his horror that Dean had broken the beer bottle in his hand. Beer foamed onto the floor, tinged pink with Dean's blood.

"Dean?"

"No way, Sam! This is too much of a fucking coincidence!" He advanced on Astrid who stepped back in shock.

"We had our hands on an afanc's tooth, a few weeks ago. Until it was stolen, by that fucker Lucien." Sam flinched. He couldn't help it. Astrid peered closely at each of them.

"Lucien," she said carefully. Sam couldn't look at her, terrified her too-knowing eyes would see right through him.

"That's what he calls himself. Probably not his real name," Dean snarled.

"No," Astrid said, almost to herself. "It's not, although he's used it before." Dean grabbed her arm and pushed his face up to hers.

"Who. Is. He?" He growled at her. She pulled her arm free easily and shoved him backwards. Dean's look of astonishment as he flew across the room might have been funny if this whole situation hadn't been so awful. Astrid straightened her hilariously inappropriate nun's habit, stained now with beer and blood.

"Lucien, as you know him, is my patron," she said finally. Sam gaped at her and Dean's mouth fell open. "His real name is Lugh."  
"And who is he, when he's at home," Dean demanded. It might have been more menacing if he wasn't sprawled on his ass on the floor.

"Lugh is one of the Tuatha Dé Danaan." Dean's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Cas mentioned him, back when we were in Pennsylvania. So you _are_ that Astrid, then?" Astrid smiled sadly.

"Yes. My lord and I have not always seen eye to eye. But I serve him loyally. I don't know why he didn't tell me he had the afanc's tooth." Dean hauled himself wearily off the floor and sat down heavily on the bed

"Could this have something to do with Purgatory?" Dean asked and Sam stared at him in confusion. What the Hell?

Astrid nodded thoughtfully. "The Wild Hunt can pass in and out of Purgatory as they please. As can anyone who travels with them. But Lugh can't call the Hunt himself without great personal risk. He'd be forced to replace Nuada, the current Huntmaster."

"I don't understand," Sam snapped. "What the Hell does Purgatory have to do with anything?" Dean's shoulders tensed.

"Cas was working with Lucien, uh, Lugh I guess I should say. They're trying to free an angel who's trapped in Purgatory." Sam's forehead wrinkled as he tried to get his head around what his brother had just told him.

"Who is it?" he asked. Dean looked away.

"I don't know. All those feathered assholes seem the same to me. Except for Cas of course." Sam watched him but couldn't tell if Dean was telling the truth or not. An amused expression flickered across Astrid's face and Sam turned on her.

"Do you know who it is?" he demanded and she shook her head.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it." She looked at Sam for moment as though weighing something up.

"So did your boss convince some poor sap to call the Hunt?"

Astrid's mouth twisted. "It's possible," she admitted. "But unless he knew the caster had successfully done so before, how would he do that?"

"Well, that rather suggests that Lugh was involved in the Electron calling as well," Sam pointed out and Astrid's shoulders sagged.

"That's probably true," she agreed.

"And you didn't know," Sam said gently. "Why are you upset? Because he didn't tell you what he was up to?" Astrid shook her head.

"My Lord Lugh often does things without informing me. But doesn't this mean he's been successful in freeing the trapped angel? So where is he? Where is the angel? And where is Castiel?"

"You think Cas was involved in this?" Dean growled and she cast him a derisive look.

"Of course," she told him. "This was Castiel's mad scheme in the first place. He came to Lugh begging and desperate. The world was ending and all that jazz."

"Well, that's probably true," Dean pointed out. Astrid dismissed him, her face hard.

"Nevertheless, where is my lord Lugh?"

"We don't know. Look, it's late. Let's get some sleep and tomorrow we figure out if we can find this tree. Maybe then we'll find some clues to what happened." Sam suggested. Astrid stared at him for a long time and then nodded. She turned and left the motel room abruptly, slamming the door behind her. Dean blew out a breath and Sam whipped around to face his brother.

"Were you going to tell me about Cas' adventures in Purgatory?" he asked angrily and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yes, of course. But then you went haring off to Hell and I never got the chance. What difference does it make?"

"Well, I might not have-" Sam broke off. Fuck. He shook his head. "Never mind. You're right, it doesn't make any difference."

* * *

He really shouldn't have waited this long to mow this lawn, Dean thought. Now it was all overgrown and the mower engine was making alarming choking sounds. He sighed heavily and looked up at the sky. It had been pure blue when he'd started, not so much as one fluffy white cloud to mar that perfect expanse. But while he'd worked, the sky had darkened and static crackled across his skin, a storm was coming. Once he would have interpreted these things differently, but that was another time. And another him.

 _I can see why you didn't last long here_ , a voice said in his ear. He turned quickly but could see nobody.

"Tenebrae?" He asked. There was a pleased sound, like the crackle of burning leaves.

 _Have you made your decision?_ Tenebrae asked and Dean shook his head.

"No. I haven't really had time to think about it. And you've told me nothing about what you expect me to do."

 _Dean, Dean. You've not changed, I see. Very well, I will try to give you a more complete picture. When Metatron closed the gates of Heaven, he set in motion a chain of events that leads us to today. Specifically, you taking on the Mark of Cain and your idiot brother's disastrous method of removing it from you. What's wrong with you people? Abaddon was not so great a threat that it was worth almost destroying the world. But here we are, Amara is loose on the world and all of creation stands in peril. Again. You know where Metatron is. Take me to him and I will do the rest._

"The rest being what exactly?" Dean demanded.

 _I will undo everything that he did. All the way back to the gates of Heaven of course._

Dean's eyes narrowed. "When you say undo…"

 _Time is not an arrow for me. I can rewind events to the point before poor stupid Castiel is duped by that duplicitous creature and intervene._

Dean thought hard about it for a moment. "I don't know," he said dubiously. "A lot has happened since then and if you go back and change things now, who knows what will happen. Maybe Amara will get free anyway."

 _Not if you retain your memory,_ Tenebrae said slyly. _Remember how Zachariah showed you the future back when you were resisting being Michael's vessel? He handed you a very powerful weapon, even if he was too stupid to understand it. Think about all the things you'd do differently if we wound time back and set it running again._

Would Sam or Cas keep their memories too?" Dean asked.

 _Doing more than one person would be tricky. Castiel isn't human so I don't know if it would work or not. I'd be willing to try but I'm not promising anything._ Tenebrae sounded intrigued by the idea.

"OK," Dean said. "Let me think about it a bit more." There was a sense of irritation.

 _Very well, but you need to make a decision soon. Time is running out._

"I thought time wasn't an arrow for you," Dean snarked.

 _I can only rewind time if I exist,_ Tenebrae said sharply. _If Amara destroys everything, there's not much I can do._

* * *

Dean groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He'd slept with his neck at an awkward angle and now it was throbbing in complaint. He blinked open his eyes.

"Sammy?" He mumbled.

"Hey Dean," Sam greeted him. "I've got coffee if you want some. It's not very hot any more but you were so soundly asleep I didn't want to wake you."

"Yeah, OK. Nuke it for me willya?" Dean struggled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. Sam fiddled with the microwave for a moment to reheat the coffee he'd bought over an hour ago. When Dean reappeared he dug into his bag and then swore.

"Everything OK?" Sam asked, watching the way his brother was holding his head.

"Yeah, I've hurt my neck and I can't find any Tylenol," Dean said pathetically. Sam gave him a sympathetic look.

"There's some aspirin in my bag, in the side pocket," he told him. Dean opened the zipper and smiled gratefully before swallowing a handful of pills.

"Hey, take it easy. That stuff'll rot a hole in your gut," Sam said in alarm. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to live long enough to worry about an ulcer, Sammy," he said easily. He eyed the screen of the laptop. "Find anything?"

"Yeah, actually. Get this, Nick and John Murphy's dad hails from…" he mimicked a drumroll on the tabletop.

"Electron, Washington?" Dean suggested, smiling at his brother's good mood.

"Bingo. What are the chances, right?" Sam looked pleased with himself, Dean thought. The black mood that had hovered in the background seemed to have dissipated at last.

"Sounds like we need to go talk with Murphy Senior," Dean commented. "What's his name?"

"Well, that's the thing," Sam said. "Now, it's Warren."  
"Now it's Warren?" Dean's eyebrows flew upwards. "He changed his name?"

"Yeah. He was called Gary Matthews back then." Sam rotated the laptop so Dean could see the mugshot on the screen.

"Son of a bitch," he said with feeling. "He looks just like the sheriff."

"Yeah, except this picture was taken in 1972. Gary Matthews was a person of interest in the disappearance, in that he was the last person to see the missing men alive. But the police couldn't find anything on him. He leaves Electron with his wife and his baby son and nobody ever sees them again."

"You think the Sheriff is Nick and John's brother?"

"Half-brother, I think. This is Sheila, Gary Matthews wife." Sam called up another photo. A smiling woman with long brown hair and kind eyes was standing on the porch of a house with a baby in her arms. "And this is Connie Murphy." He opened Facebook to show Dean a photo of one of the Murphy twins with his mother. Connie was blonde but Dean couldn't tell what her eye color was as she wasn't looking at the camera, laughing up at her son who had his arm around her.

"She could have dyed her hair," Dean said mildly. Sam laughed.

"Sure. But shrinking eight or nine inches seems unlikely. Look at the first picture, Sheila Matthews is tallish. Maybe 5 foot 9 or 10? The Murphy twins are around your height, which means Connie can't be more than 5 even." Dean peered at the two photos and nodded.

"You're right. Unless that was a freakishly tiny door in that first photo, Sheila was much taller than Connie. I wonder what happened to her."

"Nothing good, I imagine," Sam said darkly.

"You wanna check out the Jane Does found in the area?"

"This is the Pacific Northwest. Do you have any idea how many that would be? You're talking about a time when several prolific serial killers were at work up here." Sam said pointedly and Dean blinked.

"Oh. Your weird hobby again."

"Shut up. The point is, unless we have more to go on than an old photo, there's nothing about Sheila Matthews that stands out enough to recognize her in a cold case file." Sam closed the lid of the laptop. "I think we have to go talk to Connie."  
"You do that," Dean demurred. "We didn't talk to Jared Pickle's wife either, so I'm gonna go talk to her." Sam shrugged.

"OK," he agreed. "Let's meet at the diner in a couple hours."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Connie Murphy's brittle smile when Sam knocked on her door made his heart weep.

"Agent, please tell me you're going to find my son," she said breathlessly as he flashed his badge at her.

"We're doing everything we can," Sam assured her, feeling like an asshole.

"Come in, come in. I just made some tea, would you like some?" Connie asked as she showed him into a neat living room that looked like it had escaped from an issue of Better Homes and Gardens.

"Yes, thanks," Sam said politely, looking around the room. It was lovely, but sterile. No family photos or personal touches. Even the art on the walls and the objets d'art displayed in expensive looking glass cabinets seemed staged and unreal. Connie made something of a production of pouring tea and Sam waited.

"So, what do you want to know? I already told Sheriff Matthews everything I know, which isn't much. I don't see Nick very often I'm afraid." Her top lip quivered alarmingly but she rallied and gave Sam a weak smile.

"Yes, we spoke to his brother and he explained that there had been a falling out. But anything you can tell us might help," Sam told her. She picked listlessly at one fingernail.

"Warren's a traditional guy," she said softly. "When Nick told us he was… different, Warren couldn't handle it. I told him, things have changed. People are more open to that stuff I guess. Young people I mean. Honestly, I didn't care. He's my son, and I love him. I just want him to be happy."

"But your husband banned him from the house?" Sam asked sympathetically.

"Yes," Connie sighed. "I thought it would just blow over, that Warren would come to his senses. But he never did. Even so, things had been quiet for years. I would go over to Nick's apartment when I could and Warren turned a blind eye to it. But then he decided he was going to run for mayor and the local party chairman started making all these nasty comments about Nick and Father Adams. All lies of course, but Warren took it seriously."

"So the rumors about Adams and Nick aren't true?" Sam asked, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Of course they're not true!" Connie exclaimed, outraged. "What a dreadful thing to say about such a nice young man. So dedicated to his faith." Sam nodded and kept quiet. "You think Warren had something to do with Nick going missing don't you?" She asked, her eyes shrewd. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"It's a line of enquiry we have to pursue," he told her. "Especially given Warren's history." Connie looked puzzled. "There was a similar case in Electron, Washington, back in the seventies. We think Warren might have been there at the time." Connie stared at him in horror but not surprise.

"You know about that?" she stammered.

"What do you know about it?" Sam countered, watching her reactions closely.

"Warren grew up in Electron. Married his childhood sweetheart, worked for his father in the family business, a hardware store in town. And then the disappearances happened. Warren went to school with the guys who disappeared. The police thought he was involved because he'd had a falling out with them, some stupid business over the property line. But the police couldn't prove anything. Of course, they couldn't because he didn't do it. But that didn't matter, once the town rumor mill started, Warren and his wife didn't have a moment's peace. His dad retired and Warren took over the store, but nobody would shop there. The business folded. So Warren decided to leave town and start over somewhere else. He and Sheila packed up and headed to Portland. Somewhere on that journey, they pulled over to get gas. Sheila went to the restroom, and never returned. Warren searched for her for hours. Eventually he called the cops, and of course with the suspicion already hanging over him over the Electron business, they were convinced he'd done something to her too. But they had nothing, no evidence. And in those days gas stations didn't have cameras or anything like that. The station attendant never saw her. So the case went cold real quick. Warren came here, changed his name.

"He got a death certificate for Sheila once she had been missing for ten years. We married as soon as we could. We'd been living here for about three years, and everyone here already believed us married, so we actually married in Vegas, with strangers for witnesses. But it was OK, because we were together. Nick and John were born six months later."

"And Sheriff Matthews?" Sam asked, bracing himself. Connie raised one eyebrow.

"He's Warren's son. When Sheila went missing, he left him with his brother and sister-in-law. He wasn't in any state to look after a young boy. Later, when we got together I told him he could bring David home. But he'd been living with his aunt and uncle for so long, Warren didn't want to disrupt his life. David and his cousin were as close as brothers and we didn't want to rip him away from that. He believes Warren's his uncle and we never told him the truth. It never seemed like the right time."

Sam almost sagged with relief. He had not wanted to reveal to this woman that the man she was married to was living a lie. Hearing that she already knew made him feel much better.

"Thank you for being honest with me," he said. "It helps a lot."

"Warren didn't do this," she said. "Keeping quiet about his past now would look suspicious. He was angry with Nick, sure. But he wouldn't hurt him, I swear."

* * *

Dean looked around the golf club with a shiver. These places gave him the creeps, stuffed full of overpaid swaggering assholes in weird clothes. He straightened his tie and headed over to the office.

Jacinta Pickle was a tiny woman, he towered over her by at least eighteen inches. This must be how Sam feels every day, he thought idly. But tiny did not mean timid. Her expression when he introduced himself was fierce.

"It's been five weeks," she snarled. "Five weeks of nothing. No news. No leads. And now Feds show up and expect me to go over everything again?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Dean apologized. "But we find it more useful to hear witnesses accounts firsthand, rather than relying on the reports from local law enforcement." She snorted.

"Fine. Jared and I have been married for fourteen years. We have two children. He went out most Fridays with his friends. No, I didn't have a problem with it. No, he's never done anything like this before. No, he has no money worries or other reasons to disappear. Our marriage has its challenges, just like anyone's but we're happy. He doesn't have a drink or drug problem. He's a good man." She rattled off the facts in a low monotone, almost robotically. Dean figured she'd answered these questions many times before.

"So there was nothing unusual about that Friday night?" He asked.

"No. Nothing."

"OK. In the days leading up to his disappearance or that night, did you notice anything odd?"

"Odd like what?" Her eyebrows dived over her nose and she squinted at him suspiciously.

"Lights flickering, cold spots, strange sounds. Strange smells. Anything." She looked away.

"Maybe," she said slowly. "I don't know if it means anything."

"You never know what might be important," Dean told her.

"OK. Well, Jared called me around 10, saying he was heading home. I was surprised, it was kinda early you know. He asked if I wanted him to pick anything up on his way. I said no." She twisted her wedding around her finger in a gesture of distress. "He said Warren Murphy had come into the bar and got in a fight with Nick. Just then, the power went out. There wasn't a storm or anything to explain it, but the entire street went out. The line went dead at the same time. My cell wouldn't work either, it was so weird. The power came back on about a half hour later and I tried to call Jared back but it went straight to voicemail. When he wasn't home by midnight, I called the sheriff."

"This is the first I've heard about the power going out," Dean said thoughtfully.

"Well, it was only four blocks on this street. We figured it was the power company doing some work on the lines. It didn't seem relevant to Jared going missing. Are you saying it's related? How?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "But the timing is a little suspicious. It could be nothing, but it's a new lead. Thank you for your time. One more question, and this is going to seem a little strange." She nodded in assent. "Are there any dead trees in the woods behind your house?" She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Are you talking about the twisted oak?" She asked.

"Ah, yeah. I guess I am," Dean said awkwardly.

* * *

The diner was crowded and the harried waitress told Dean that the wait for a table would be at least thirty minutes. He sighed and headed back outside to await Sam in the parking lot. Leaning against the Impala, his thoughts drifted to Cas. The angel had pulled another one of his disappearing acts, and even though he knew now what he was up to, it didn't stop him worrying.

 _Hey Cas? You OK, buddy? It's been a while._

 _Dean?_ The angel sounded startled. _What's wrong?_

 _Nothing. Nothing. I just haven't spoken to you in a while. I was worried._ Dean winced at the frank admission.

 _Oh. No, I'm fine. We haven't spoken for a long time? I'm sorry._ Dean frowned. Cas couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd spoken?

 _No, it's been a few weeks. But it's OK. As long as you're OK._

 _I'm fine._ Dean could feel warm affection washing over him. _It's good to talk to you, Dean._

 _I miss you._ Dammit, he hadn't meant to say that.

 _I'll be home soon._ Cas soothed. Dean looked up to see Sam wandering over.

"Hey Sam," he said, forcing a smile. Sam gave him a strange look, which meant his expression looked weird. Awesome.

"Hey, Dean. How'd your interview with Jacinta Pickle go?"

"Good, I might have something. You?"

"Maybe. Connie knows about her husband's past. We were right about his previous life as Gary Matthews. David Matthews is his son, but believes Warren's his uncle. But it tells us nothing about where the ritual could have been performed."

"Well, that's where I might have a lead," Dean said triumphantly. "Jacinta said Warren Murphy showed up at the bar and got in a fight with his son, according to Jared. He called her around 10pm, saying he was coming home. Just then the power went out on her street, about four blocks were without power for about a half hour. Not just a power outage, her cellphone didn't work either."

"Like an EMP?" Sam asked curiously.

"Kinda, but the power came back and the cell started working again. I'm thinking a big magical ritual might have had some side effects, which means the working was close to Jared and Jacinta's home. According to Jacinta, there's a dead tree in the woods behind her house known as the twisted oak."

"Sounds suitably ominous," Sam grinned. "Let's check it out."

* * *

It had not been difficult to find the tree, Jacinta's directions had been excellent and the tree itself was hard to miss. It was huge, which meant it was very old, at least three hundred years at a guess. The bare branches were twisted and the bark was blackened and gnarled. Even the roots had erupted through the ground,as though the tree had writhed as it died. Nothing grew within a four foot radius of the trunk. Sam shuddered as a chill spread across his shoulders.

"So what's the story?" He asked.

"According to Jacinta, there was a huge storm here last year. The tree was struck by this bug bolt of lightning, and twisted the tree up like this. It also caused a fire, which I guess is why it's all black."

"There's definitely something bad here," Sam said softly. "Can't you feel it?" A muscle worked in Dean's jaw.

"Yeah. There's a creepy vibe here all right. Come on, let's take a closer look."

At the foot of the tree, were the stumps of some candles, two glass vials and a pair of latex gloves. One of the vials had a trace of a reddish-brown substance in the bottom. Sam held it up.

"Stillborn baby blood?" He suggested and Dean nodded. The other vial had nothing inside, but tears wouldn't leave any kind of residue he figured. "No sign of the afanc's tooth."

"Lugh probably took that with him," Dean growled. Sam tried not to flinch. "There's something in this hollow here." Dean pointed his flashlight into the hole in the tree and it flickered and died. "Dammit." Dean shook the flashlight a few times and banged it against his palm but nothing happened. "I'm gonna go back to the car and get another light. Stay here, I'll be back in five."

"I'll come with you," Sam said.

"Nah, just hang out here. I'll be back before you know it." Dean said and ambled off. Sam sighed and walked back to the tree. There were some symbols carved into the bark that he hadn't noticed before. He leaned forward to examine them.

"Well, well," a voice came from behind them. Sam whirled around in horror, he knew that voice all too well. Lugh was leaning nonchalantly against a tree. "Hello, Sam," he purred.

"Lugh," Sam said tightly.

"Ah," Lugh said. "Who told you? Astrid?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. Lugh shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

"And she sent you here?" Lugh asked. His tone was casual but there was a tenseness in his stance that hadn't been there before.

"She said the leader of the Hunt has a sword that might be able to defeat the Darkness," Sam explained. "But don't you know this already?"

"Bhás an Dorchadas. Yes, I suggested to Astrid that we retrieve it. I didn't know she planned to involve you. I am sorry, Sam."

"Sorry?" Sam retorted. "Because we found out you caused four people to go missing?"

"No," Lugh said sadly. "Because I'm not here alone. But you are."

"Is Cas here?" Sam asked, looking around. Lugh gave a humorless laugh.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"You're such a drama queen," another voice drawled from behind Lugh and Sam stiffened. _That voice. No, it can't be…_ A compact figure stepped out and Sam almost forgot how to breathe.

" _Gabriel!"_

* * *

Dean ambled back to the car, fiddling with his flashlight to see if he could figure out why it had stopped working. So he didn't notice who was standing next to the Impala until he was almost on top of her.

"Dean," Amara said warmly. Dean backed up several steps, discomfort and this weird connection between them twisting in his gut.

"Amara," he replied gruffly. "What do you want?"

"To talk," she said. "You're unhappy with me."

"People are dying," Dean told her. "You're killing people who are nothing to do with your fight with God."

"I already explained this," Amara said firmly, like he was a recalcitrant child. "They're at peace, within me." Dean shuddered at the thought. "It disturbs you," she realized.

"Yeah, it disturbs me," Dean agreed. "You can't just rip people out of their lives like this. Sam and I have spent our whole lives fighting anything that does that."

"No you don't," Amara said derisively. "You fight the supernatural. Demons, vampires, ghosts. But they're not the cause of most human deaths. It's other humans who cause most of human misery. War and poverty are responsible for more death than any monster."

"Maybe," Dean admitted. "But we can only do what we can. And we can save people. We do." Amara stepped closer to him and he wanted to retreat, he did. But he couldn't.

"Dean," she said. "I want us to be together. We will be together." Nausea roiled in Dean's stomach. "Soon," she promised.

"No," he croaked. The spell broke and he stumbled backwards. 'No." She disappeared and he slumped backwards against a tree and tried to steady his breathing. What the Hell had that been about?

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Sam said angry and tight, his mouth a downwards slash of fury and pain. "Lucifer didn't kill you, in that motel. It was all a trick." Gabriel grinned at him delightedly.

"Yup," he replied airily. "Although it didn't work out quite as I'd planned. I did get tossed into Purgatory, after all."

"And you didn't think to tell me, tell us, when you got back. That you were OK?" Sam continued, his hands flexing. Gabriel looked puzzled.

"No. Why would I do that?" He pulled a candy bar out of his pocket and tore at the wrapper. Biting off a large chunk, he chewed contemplatively. "Kinda defeats the purpose, don't you think? I didn't want to be stuck in Purgatory, but I like people thinking that I'm dead."

"Sure. OK, I'll buy that. But you weren't going to let _me_ know, Gabriel?" The archangel frowned, like Sam was talking in a foreign language.

"You seem to be under some kind of misapprehension," Gabriel said finally. "Like I owe you for something." His eyes were harder now, the easy humor had slid away as if it were never there.

"No," Sam said slowly. "Not owe. But, I thought… Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. You're right. You don't owe me anything. You're alive, good for you." He turned to leave, the tightness in his chest a dull ache he was desperate to ignore.

"Wait," Gabriel said. "You're leaving?" He sounded confused, the way Cas did sometimes when he or Dean did something human the angel considered baffling. Sam looked over to him, still leaning lazily against a tree.

"Yes," Sam told him. "I'm leaving. Dean and I have to get back. We have work to do."

"You're angry," the archangel observed. "Why are you angry?"

"Because," Sam said childishly. He turned and began walking in the general direction of the car. Gabriel was suddenly in front of him, his arms folded over his chest.

"I came here for a reason," the archangel said. "And now it looks like I need your help." Sam gave him a withering glance.

"You need my help. After all this time, radio silence, me thinking you were dead. And now you're here because you need my help. No. No way," Sam hissed. Gabriel arched a brow at him.

"Aren't you even going to hear me out?" he asked in surprise.

"You seem to be under some kind of misapprehension," Sam mimicked. "Like I owe you for something." Gabriel stiffened.

"You _are_ angry. At me," he peered at Sam curiously. "And disappointed." Sam's mouth tightened, he did not want Gabriel reading his mind, thank you very much. He tried to concentrate on something, anything. Not on the way Gabriel's smile made him shiver, or how his golden eyes seemed to see right through him. Definitely not on the way his pants fit neatly onto his body, that compact body that for some reason made Sam's mouth water. Not on the tearing grief that had ripped through him when Gabriel had died. Or the way Lucifer had delighted in showing him that moment, over and over again in the Cage. _Fuck_.

Gabriel was probably quite difficult to shock, Sam thought vaguely. But he'd managed to do it. The archangel's face was a picture, open-mouthed and vulnerable in a way Sam had only seen once before. He remembered his own appalled surprise when they'd discovered Gabriel's identity. And the hard look he'd gotten from Cas as he realized just what he'd done. No matter that Gabriel had seduced him and lied about who he was.

"Sam," Gabriel managed. "I had no idea." Sam's face was drawn in hard lines.

"That's not true. You just didn't want to think about it. You ran away from it, like you run away from everything." Sam said bitterly. "Enough. Let me go."

"I'm serious. I told you it didn't mean anything, that it didn't have to mean anything." Gabriel's voice was thin and stressed.

"It didn't mean anything," Sam said. "To you. You don't get to tell me what it means to me." Gabriel's eyebrows rose.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I made a mistake. I didn't think you would get hurt. It was just a bit of fun," he said dismayed.

"A mistake. Yeah, you're right about that," Sam told him. "Now, please. I have to go." He thought Gabriel would argue, but he just stepped out of Sam's way, his face blank. Sam turned his face away and almost walked straight into Dean's chest.

"Dean!" he blurted. His brother looked curiously at him, then his gaze slid past him to where Lugh was standing by the twisted oak. Sam suddenly wished he was a long, long way away.

"What the Hell is he doing here?" Dean said irritably. He tensed when he saw Sam's misery-hunched shoulders. And then his eyes flicked to the figure behind Sam.

"Gabriel," he breathed. "You tricky son of a bitch. You made it." He didn't sound pissed off, Sam thought. He didn't even sound surprised. The whole situation was insane and upside-down; he was hurt, confused and angry and Dean was amused. _Amused!_ Dean looked at Sam and his eyebrows dived down over his nose.

"What did you do to piss off Sam?" he demanded. Gabriel shrugged.

"Exist, mostly." Dean looked carefully at his brother and the angel.

"OK," he said, clearly wondering what the Hell was going on. "Someone wanna fill me in?"

"You didn't know?" Lugh asked with quiet amusement. Dean stared at him.

"Know what?"

"That I seduced your brother, back in TV Land," Gabriel said pointedly. "Or that Sam thought it meant more than it did."

"You did what?" Dean exclaimed, his gaze landing on Sam in disbelief before darting back to Gabriel. "That was about you?" He shook his head in remembrance. "You should have seen him, after you died. He was so willing to throw himself in the Pit and I never understood why. There may have been no other way to avert the Apocalypse, but it made no sense to me how ready he was to go." Gabriel's mouth had settled into a hard line.

"Fine, I get it. You've made your point. I'm outta here. You won't see me again." With that parting shot, he was gone. Dean was still staring at Sam.

"Dude, what the Hell?" Sam looked down at the ground, silent and sullen. "I said, dude, what the Hell?".

"It's none of your business," Sam told him sourly.

"Like Hell it's not!" Dean barked. "Were you out of your mind? What on earth possessed you to sleep with him? And how come I didn't know about it?"

"He manipulated the timing, I guess." Sam offered. "It was just before he turned me into the Impala." Dean tugged at his hair in frustration.

"Why, Sam?" Sam wouldn't look at him. "What is it with you and sleeping with monsters?"

"Gabriel is not a monster," Sam said stiffly. Dean flicked him a contemptuous glance.

"That's up for discussion. But you didn't know he was Gabriel at the time. So, Sam, another supernatural notch on your belt. An archangel. Go you."

"Fuck you," Sam growled. "I know it was stupid."

"So if you knew it was stupid, then why'd you do it?" Dean asked again.

"Same reason you fall into bed with whoever will have you," Sam ground out. "I wanted to. I wanted him. You don't have to tell me it was wrong, that I shouldn't have. I know that. I knew it then. He didn't seduce me. He offered and I wanted it and I said yes." Dean rubbed a hand over his face.

"At least I restrict my activities to my own species," he snarled, glaring at Sam.

"Well, I think that's my cue to leave as well," Lugh said smoothly. "Happy hunting!"

"Wait!" Sam cried. "Was this your doing?"

"Was what my doing?" Lugh said innocently but Sam wasn't fooled.

"Calling the Hunt. The men who disappeared." Lugh sighed.

"Not directly," he said and Sam gave him a hard look.

"Indirectly then. Warren Murphy, or Gary Matthews as he used to be, was present at both of the recent reports of the Wild Hunt in the Pacific northwest. You helped him?" Sam heard Dean shifting behind him.

"Yes, I did. I needed the Hunt to transport Gabriel out of Purgatory. It was the only way we were going to get him out. We'd tried everything else." Lugh looked annoyed at being questioned like this.

"And the men who went missing, what about them?" Dean demanded.

"Collateral damage," Lugh said in a bored tone. "Isn't that what you humans say?"

"Collateral damage," Sam repeated in a level tone. "So fuck them, is that what you're saying?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Sam. Don't make the same mistake with me you made with Gabriel." Sam gave a strangled sound of frustration and horror.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, his gaze bouncing between his brother and Lugh. Lugh gave him a salacious smile. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Sam, tell me you didn't sleep with this asshole as well." Sam looked down at the ground. "All right, I'm done." Dean declared. He turned his attention to the hole in the tree, theatrically ignoring Sam and Lugh.

"Ugh!" Sam exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "I'm going back to the car!" He tramped off into the woods, trying not to feel Lugh's eyes on his back.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Dean found Sam sleeping on the backseat of the Impala. He knocked on the window with his knuckles and hid a smile at way his brother woke with a start. He was still pissed at Sam after all.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he said. "Come see what I've found." Sam clambered awkwardly out of the car to look at the burlap sack in Dean's hand.

"What is it?" He asked, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell. Dean opened it and upended it over the hood of the car. There was a man's gold wedding band, a Zippo lighter engraved with the initials JLC, a keyring in the shape of the Eiffel Tower and a tiny framed photo of a woman and a small boy. Sam stared at the items, trying to figure out what he was looking at.

"Wedding ring is Jared Pickle's," Dean said. Sam looked up at him.

"How do you know that?"

"It's engraved inside, look. J & J 4 EVA." Sam squinted at the cursive writing engraved into the inside of the band.

"Makes sense, I guess. Who's JLC?  
"Johnny Cooke, middle name Leland." Dean told him

"Leland? Jesus." Sam said with pity. "What about these other things?"

"No idea, but at a guess the woman and the kid are Miles' ex and his son. So the keyring must be Nick Murphy's."

"But Nick didn't go missing, remember. Which makes it John's," Sam pointed out. Dean's mouth twisted in thought.

"Hmm. Maybe. It depends whether Warren took these things from the men the night they vanished or beforehand," he mused.

"You know, that reminds me. We figure we might have some kind of motive for Warren Murphy to get rid of his son, sick motive, but yeah, a motive. But the others? I don't get it." Sam said, raking one hand through his hair. Dean nodded in agreement.

"Yeah. It's been bothering me too. Maybe it wasn't planned that way, but he had to improvise." Sam turned the keyring over in his hand. There was a tiny chip at the base. He sighed.

"We need to go talk to Warren Murphy. And figure out how to get these guys back." Dean eyed him for a moment.

"OK. I'll go talk to Murphy. You hit the books." Sam gave him a narrow look. "I won't tip him off, don't worry."

* * *

Sam spent the next hour reading everything he could find online about the Wild were an awful lot of myths from a lot of different European countries and although there were many common features, there was also a lot of conflicting information. Pain began to throb behind his eyes. He leaned back and blew out a breath. He hadn't had a moment to himself since the Gabriel revelation had landed and now he had some space to sort out the thoughts in his head, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Seeing Gabriel had been a shock to his system. And Dean, dammit, Dean had known something, as evidenced by his total lack of surprise at the archangel's appearance. Fucking Hell, if he hadn't lost his temper he might have gotten more of the story out of Gabriel and Lugh. Sam gave a groan and rested his head on the table for a moment. Did Gabriel know about Lugh? Lugh clearly had known about his relationship with Gabriel. Sam's stomach turned over slowly. Lugh had caught him at a vulnerable moment, depressed by Lucifer's viciousness and his own gullibility.

His headache worsened as his memories pressed against his skull. Grieving over Gabriel's death, staring into a future that held only pain and death and blood, Dean was damn right he'd been happy to throw himself into the Pit. To make something he'd done in his worthless life mean something. Cas and Crowley had fucked that up, prying him out of the Cage without his soul and Sam wondered, not for the first time, if he'd ever really recovered from the damage that had wrought.

But Gabriel's return and subsequent indifference to Sam hurt worse than any of that. Even if he'd never expected the archangel to return his feelings, the callous way he had rejected them burned. And all the while the mocking sense of Lugh's amusement and the sharp sting of Dean's horror and disapproval. Sam swallowed, and his eyes rested on the half bottle of bourbon by Dean's bed. He turned away with a snarl. Drinking to forget was not going to help and there were four guys who were relying on him finding a way to rescue them from a mythical foxhunt.

The motel room door popped open with a click and Dean stomped into the room noisily.

"Any luck?" he asked shortly. Sam shook his head.

"There's plenty of lore about the Hunt, how to call them, the risks. But nothing about how to rescue someone they've taken."

"Well, Warren Murphy's in the wind," Dean told him. "I tried his office, his home, bars he goes to. Everywhere. He's gone."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Sam said. His brother nodded and gave him a wary look. One Sam recognized all too well, even if it had been a while since he'd seen it. "I don't want to talk about this, Dean," he insisted, hoping to head his brother off at the pass.

"Really. Because I've got a few things to say anyway," Dean snapped. Sam closed his eyes. "I can just about cope with the weird, fucked up idea that you did the nasty with Gabriel. I mean, I don't _get_ it, but I can deal. But what the fuck possessed you to invite Lugh into your bed? Seriously, Sam. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Sam admitted. "I was drunk and depressed. Lugh took advantage." The look on Dean's face was murderous.

"This was after your little binge when we got back from Hell, wasn't it? When you were whining about how Lucifer didn't like you." Sam nodded slowly. "Son of a bitch! How did he get into the Bunker without setting off the wards?"

"I don't think the Men of Letters knew much about the Tuatha Dé Danaan," Sam said. "There's nothing in any of the files or books about them, other than as myth." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Sam took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I fucked up. It was stupid and dangerous and I know better." Dean looked at him for a long moment.

"OK. OK, Sam. What are you going to do?" Sam blinked in confusion.

"What am I going to do? About what?" He asked and was astonished at the color that stained his brother's cheeks.

"About Gabriel," he said. Sam gaped at him.

"What?" He gasped. "What do you mean?" Dean shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Sam's eyes.

"Are you going to try to fix things?" He asked, his voice low and a note of strain Sam didn't understand.

"What's to fix? We never had a relationship. Apparently Gabriel spent exactly zero minutes thinking about me the moment we parted company." Sam said bitterly. The sad look on his brother's face was almost more than he could bear. "Where are you going with this, Dean?"

"I'm just saying," Dean said, even softer now. "Are you just going to give up?" Sam stared at his brother, utterly perplexed. What the Hell had gotten into him?

"Uh. Well, unless Gabriel shows up again, I'm not sure there's much I can do," Sam admitted.

"But you want to," Dean said insistently. "You want to try and straighten things out?" This was getting too weird for Sam.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, I do. But I don't hold out any hope. I haven't held out any hope of anything good happening in a long time. I would like to apologize though. I was being unfair. He told me exactly what to expect. I just didn't listen." Dean nodded but he seemed distracted.

"Good. That's good, Sam." Sam stared at him, a growing sense of alarm ringing in his head.

"OK," he said slowly. "But like I say, unless Gabriel chooses to grace me with his presence, I'm not going to get the chance."

"Figure something out," Dean suggested. "You could pray to him." Sam rolled his eyes but gave in.

"Fine. Fine, I'll think about it. But not tonight. I need some space tonight." Dean looked at him for a long time, then gave a nod.

"OK. Now, let's get back to work." Sam turned his attention back to his laptop.

"I've read just about everything there is online. I think I'm gonna need to hit up a library."

"There's only a small one in town," Dean observed.

"Yeah, and I doubt the one in Salem is much better. I need a university library, really. So I guess I'm heading to Portland." Sam looked at his watch. "It's late, the library will be closed by now. I'll head out first thing. What about you?"

"I'm gonna make some calls to a few hunters, see if I can dig up any more info on the Wild Hunt."

"You said Dad mentioned it in his journal," Sam reminded him. "Did you find the entry?" Dean nodded and pulled the journal out of his bag. He flicked through the pages and then handed it to Sam. Sam read his father's familiar scrawl and then looked up at Dean in surprise.

"He investigated a case in Electron?" He asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Not the 1972 case, obviously. No, this was a werewolf hunt as you saw. But he heard about the other case while he was investigating."

"He didn't work this job alone," Sam pointed out. Dean's face went hard and Sam blinked.

"No. He didn't." Sam stared at his brother, puzzled over his reaction.

"You were there then? Dad doesn't mention that although this was around the time you started working jobs regularly with him. He only mentions a Caleb Watkins? I've never met him."

"No, I wasn't there. And you haven't met Caleb. Nor will you." Every line of his brother's body radiated tension. Dean was lying to him, but about what? Not being there or Sam having never met Caleb. He couldn't tell, but calling his brother on it right now didn't seem smart.

"OK," he said finally. "You don't like him. Fine. But he might have information." Dean shook his head.

"No," he said shortly. His tone indicated that this subject was not up for further examination. Sam backed off, he didn't need to piss Dean off any more than necessary.

"So, anyway Dad only mentions the case briefly. He was sure it was the Wild Hunt that had taken the missing men, but the case was cold and there wasn't much he could do. How come you remember it so well?" A muscle worked in Dean's jaw, indicating his agitation.

"Leave it, Sammy," God, Dean was jumpy today.

"OK, OK. Let's go get something to eat and make a beer run," Sam suggested, relieved when Dean relaxed and nodded in agreement.

* * *

Sam wrote a quick email to a Nia Britton, hunter he knew in Portland. He might as well drop by, since he was going to be in town anyway. Nia responded almost immediately.

 _Hey Sam,_

 _Long time no see! How's that PITA of a brother? I'm sorry, I'd love to see you but I'm actually out of town right now on a hunt in Vancouver. If you're looking for lore on the Wild Hunt, you're SOL. Nobody knows much outside of the mythology. I've never met a hunter who's actually faced them._

 _Caleb Watkins is a name I haven't heard in a long time. He dropped off the grid back in 1999. Can't tell you much about him, other than he was a good friend of your Dad's but Ellen absolutely hated him. Barred him from the Roadhouse, which she almost never did. Never did find out the whole story, it was a long time ago. Sorry I can't tell you any more. Garth knows something but I've never been able to get him to spill the beans. Which is weird, right, because Garth isn't exactly close-lipped. He might tell you though, so you should really ask him although he's also off-grid so I don't know if he's still alive._

 _Nia_

Sam stared at the email for a while. He considered emailing Garth, torn between wanting to know why Dean hated this guy so much and afraid of what he might find out. He swallowed and made a decision, writing an email to Garth and sending it quickly before he could change his mind.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said suddenly, looking up from one of Bobby's journals. "I think I got something."

"Bobby faced the hunt?" Sam asked quickly. Dean shook his head.

"No. He just did the clean-up." Sam grimaced, that did not sound good.

"The Hunt was called in Maine, near Frye Mountain. They took at least six people before Rufus and the Mackenzies were able to stop them. But the Hunt killed them and Rufus was badly injured. Bobby had to go in and clear out their motel rooms before the Feds got their hands on their stuff." Sam's forehead crinkled.

"The Mackenzies?"

"Jenny and Neal Mackenzie. I don't know if you remember them, but we stayed with them back when we were kids. You must have been four or five." Sam shook his head.

"It doesn't ring a bell," he admitted Dean shrugged.

"They were good people. Great hunters. They called in Rufus when they realized what they were up against, which is lucky for us because he called Bobby to collect all their research. There's a spell we can use to free unwilling riders. Only trouble is, we have to call the Hunt again."

"And if it goes wrong, we become the prey, right?" Dean grinned at him. "You realize this means we have to call on Lugh?" Sam pointed out and Dean's grin faltered.

"Dammit. Is there nothing else we can use?" Sam shrugged.

"Maybe, but it will take time. All the lore I've read suggests that the longer you ride with the Hunt, the more part of it you become. So I don't know how much time we have but I'd really hate to delay any more than we have to."

"Do you think Lugh will help anyway?" Dean asked. "He did help Murphy call the damn thing in the first place."

"I don't think he cares. He needed the Hunt, and he used Murphy to get what he wanted. Now, why he wanted to help Gabriel, I don't know." Sam was proud of how his voice didn't waver when saying Gabriel's name.

"OK. Call Astrid, see if she can convince Lugh to come talk to us." Dean sighed. Sam opened his email again and sent Astrid a quick message. He'd barely finished sending it when there was a knock at the door. Dean opened it and stepped back warily as Lugh sauntered into the room.

"Sam," Lugh said in that warm, slightly amused tone that still made Sam shiver. "And Dean. How lovely. You want something, I hear."

"We're trying to rescue the men captured by the Hunt," Sam told him without preamble. "Which means we need to call the Hunt again." Lugh smiled, but it was not pleasant.

"I see. Why should I help you?" he said in a bored tone. Sam took a deep breath.

"I was hoping we could negotiate a reasonable price," Dean's eyes flew to his brother. This was a very dangerous game. Lugh gave Sam a sultry look.

"Mmm. I'm sure I can come up with a suitable payment." Sam swallowed and Dean looked like he wanted to throw up. A flick of his fingers riveted Dean to the spot and then Lugh moved cat-like across the room until he was inches from Sam. He tugged Sam's head forward and licked at the seam of Sam's lips, thrusting his tongue into Sam's mouth with a growl. One hand slipped into Sam's jeans and Sam had to try and remember to breathe as those elegant fingers drove him slowly insane. Lugh moved his mouth to Sam's neck and then without warning, lifted Sam up as easily as if he were a child. Sam was only vaguely aware of his brother's protests and he didn't care, all he cared about now was this crazy, urgent need. Lugh was mesmerizing, winding his body tighter and tighter with lips and tongue and teeth and hands. But it wasn't this tall, slender body he really wanted. He was assaulted by memories of a smaller frame and laughing golden eyes. He shouldn't do this, he should…

"I don't think so," a voice boomed. Lugh was thrust backwards by a wave of power and Sam was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. His jaw dropped open to see Gabriel standing over him and he exhaled noisily, shock and awe punching a hole in his gut. Gabriel was towering fury and immense power and sheer, inhuman glory. His wings cast a huge shadow on the wall of the motel room, lit by some mysterious white light that came from behind Sam and yet he thought maybe from Gabriel himself.

Dean's paralysis had been broken by the archangel's power and he had to turn his head away from Gabriel's glory. The arrogant Irish deity was cowering now, which he would have enjoyed more if he weren't so scared himself. Gabriel was _pissed_.

"Give Dean the afanc's tooth," Gabriel told Lugh. Lugh didn't hesitate. He produced the fossil and shoved it into Dean's hands.

"I'll take my leave," he mumbled and fled, the motel door banging behind him.

"Gabriel," Sam breathed. "I… You… Why did you do that?"

"What did you think I would do, Sam?" Gabriel asked, his True Voice threatening to vibrate right through and destroy him, this place, everything. Fucking Hell. "I don't think you quite understood what _you've_ done." Sam stared at him stupidly, his mouth opening and closing silently. He had no idea what was going on here and Gabriel was both terrifying and captivating like this. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might just thump its way clean out of his ribcage.

"I'm sorry," Sam told him. "I don't understand what's going on but I know I owe you an apology."

Gabriel glared at him. "If you don't understand what you're apologizing for, what value does it have?" he sneered and Sam gulped in fear.

"I'm sorry about how I reacted to learning you were alive. In the woods. You wanted my help and I got mad and said no. I was wrong. You were right, I had no right to demand anything from you. You were quite clear about what you were offering in TV Land. I was stupid about it, but that's not your fault."

"You were human about it," Gabriel said, his tone softer and his True Voice receded. "That's not a crime. I knew it was a risk. I should not have done it."

"So why did you?" Sam asked. Gabriel leveled a look at him.

"Have you looked in the mirror?" he grinned. "Who could resist?" Dean was making fake retching sounds from somewhere behind him but Sam ignored him. Gabriel held out a hand and Sam grasped it firmly. He let the archangel tug him to his feet and gave him a shy smile. Gabriel rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"So, you want to take on the Wild Hunt?" he asked, gazing into Sam's eyes. Sam blinked at the sudden change of subject.

"Uh, yeah. Four men were taken by the Hunt, and we'd really like to rescue them," Sam explained.

Gabriel gave him an affectionate smile. "You've not changed, I see. Still trying to save the world, Sammy?" Sam tried to control his wildly beating pulse at the sound of Gabriel's voice, arch and amused.

"Yeah. I guess," he said, reflecting that he really needed to get a grip. Gabriel wasn't mad at him any more, but he really shouldn't read too much into it.

"Cool! Sounds like fun!" Gabriel declared. Dean looked like he'd lost his mind. The archangel's face took on a cunning expression that made Sam feel uneasy. "Where do we start?"

* * *

Gabriel's attention span was, to put it mildly, not long. He paced up and down in front of the twisted oak, making exaggerated sighs and constantly poking at the circle Sam and Dean had laid out.

"Patience really isn't one of your virtues, is it?" Sam asked pointedly. Gabriel grinned at him.

"Au contraire," he denied. "I can be _very_ patient, under particular circumstances." He waggled his eyebrows at Sam in what the hunter could only interpret as flirtatious manner. It means nothing, Sam told himself. He's messing with you because he can.

"All right," Dean said. "It's almost midnight. Let's get these candles lit." Sam pulled out his lighter and set the flame to each of the candles and then sneezed.

"Vanilla-scented? Really, Gabriel?" The archangel shrugged.

"It won't make any difference to the ritual," he said innocently. Sam glowered at him but returned his attention to the circle. Dean had placed the afanc's tooth in the center and was drizzling the stillborn baby's blood and virgin's tears onto the fossil. Gabriel had been evasive about where he'd gotten the supplies for this ritual at such short notice and truthfully Sam didn't want to know.

"Do you want to do the summoning?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"Yeah, sure." But Gabriel bared his teeth at Dean and Sam stepped back.

"Uh, no it's fine. I'll do it," Dean said. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Gabriel was making him crazy. Dean began to intone the complex Gaelic chant and Sam tried to ignore the archangel and concentrate on the job at hand.

Dean had finished speaking and for a moment the only sound was the wind rustling the branches of the trees. Then Sam heard the far-off call of a horn.

"They're coming!" He cried out to Dean. The next step was going to require precision timing and a bit of luck. The sound of the horn was getting closer and Sam could hear the yelping of the hounds, a thrilling, frightening sound that chilled him down to the marrow. Crashing sounds came as the Hunt smashed through the trees and the yelping was very, very close. Sam barked out to Dean, "Now!" But his brother didn't move. In fact, he was frozen completely still. Sam tried to turn his head but he found he was similarly paralyzed.

The Wild Hunt was an incredible sight. No wispy spirits these, but as solid and real as anything around them. Only a misty blue glow that trailed after each movement suggested that they were not human. The head of the Hunt, a barrel-chested man with a large beard and wild eyes rode up to Sam and looked down on him, menacing and powerful.

"Nuada," Gabriel intoned. The man looked up and then inclined his head.

"Loki," he said respectfully. "It has been too many moons since you last rode with us."

"What can I say," Gabriel replied lazily. "I'm a busy guy."

"How can the Hunt serve you?" Nuada looked down at the Winchesters with an unholy glee in his eyes. "Have you brought us tribute?"

"Who these guys?" Gabriel said dismissively. "No, I have something much better for you." He snapped his fingers and Lugh appeared in front of him, bound with silver chains and murder in his eyes. Nuada's eyes widened.

"This is a princely gift, son of Odin. What boon would you seek in return?" Gabriel smiled.

"You took four humans from this place, as payment for a gift," Gabriel said easily. "Give them back and our deal is done." Nuada regarded Gabriel curiously.

"The boon you seek is a small one, compared to the value of this tribute." It was hard to distinguish the man's expressions under all his facial hair, but he seemed disturbed.

"Nevertheless, it is all I seek," Gabriel responded in a forbidding tone. Nuada inclined his head again.

"Then so must it be. I accept your bargain." He turned to Lugh, whose eyes were panicked, the whites plainly visible. Sam felt uncomfortable, what was going to happen to him? Nuada leaped down from his horse and unsheathed his sword. Alarm bells began to toll in Sam's head but he was powerless to do anything but watch as Nuada raised the sword and brought it down. He would have collapsed with relief when the blade touched each of Lugh's shoulders lightly, had he been able to move.

"Rise, Lugh. Master of the Wild Hunt. I go now to my rest!" Nuada leaned his head back and let out a ululating sound that had the hounds yelping again and a roar went up from the Hunters.

Lugh stood up and shot a furious look at Gabriel. The silver chains fell to the ground with a jingle.

"This was a mistake," he snarled. Gabriel gave him a contemptuous glance and then pushed his way into the Hunt. Lugh's gaze fell on Sam.

"And you," he sneered. "You threw your lot in with the wrong side, Sam. We will meet again." He swung up into the saddle of Nuada's horse. Lugh wheeled the animal around and the horn sounded, a shattering sound that was almost painful to hear. And then he plunged back into the woods and the Hunt followed, yelping and shouting.

Sam realized that he was able to move again and he looked around urgently. Gabriel was stood talking to four men just a few feet away, and he turned his head and met Sam's gaze. Then with a snap of his fingers he was gone.

Sam staggered painfully over to the confused-looking men, recognizing them as he got closer.

"You're Sam?" John Murphy asked as he approached.

"Yeah. John, right?" Murphy nodded and held out his hand.

"Your friend told us you're the one to thank for getting us home." Sam shook the outstretched hand but felt like a fraud. Gabriel had done all the work, really. And then disappeared again. He sighed.

"All right, let's get moving. I've had enough crawling around in the dirt for one evening." Dean said tiredly.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Warren Murphy was found dead the next morning, hanging from a beam in his garage. Sheriff Matthews had come to the Winchester's motel room to give them the news.

"No sign of foul play?" Dean had asked roughly, his face pale and drawn.

"Not that I can see," Matthews said stiffly. "He left a note, taking responsibility for the murder of his first wife and two men from Washington state. It was kinda weird really, but I guess the guilt just got to him in the end."

"How about the guys we found in the woods?" Sam asked gently.

"Yeah, they're gonna be OK. Dehydrated and exhausted sure, but Doctor Wenceslas is sure they'll make a full recovery. Really, these guys grew up around here. What on earth were they thinking going camping in the woods after a night of drinking?" Sam gave him a weak smile.

"We've all done stupid things when drunk," he said ruefully. Matthews rubbed a hand over his face.

"Ain't that the truth. All right, agents, I guess you'll be heading out of here." Dean nodded.

"Yeah. We've got a report to file and I'm sure another case will be waiting when we get back." Matthews shook their hands and then turned and walked away. Sam grabbed his bag and followed Dean to the car.

"Agent!" A voice called out and Sam looked up to see Father Adams.

"Father," he said in greeting. "How are you?" The priest was rather casually dressed in jeans and a cable-knit sweater, rather than his clerical collar.

"I quit," Adams said happily. Sam blinked.

"You've left the church?" He asked in amazement. Adams flushed.

"Yeah. I've been praying for guidance ever since that night. After our plan to escape went wrong, I thought maybe it was a sign that Nick and I were doing the wrong thing. But then last night, I had a vision."

"A vision," Sam said, deadpan. Dean shot him a look.

"Yeah. From an angel. He said I should follow my heart. That God wants me to be happy." Adams cheeks pinked at little.

"Did this angel have a name?" Sam asked casually. Adams nodded.

"Yes. It's probably not one you've heard of, he's not as well known as say, the angel Gabriel." Sam tried not to flinch but he could feel Dean's eyes on him. "His name is Castiel." Adams continued. Dean started coughing and Sam had to thump him hard on the back.

"Castiel?" Dean said hoarsely. Adams smiled beatifically at him.

"Yes. Castiel is the angel of Thursday. But he's a bit obscure, so it's not surprising if you've never heard of him." He eyed Dean's expression curiously.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're happy," Sam said quickly, before Dean had an apoplexy in front of the baffled ex-priest. He shook Adams hand and then watched him walk away with a wave.

"What the Hell, Sam?" Dean croaked.

"I don't know. Has Cas done anything like this before?" Sam asked.

"Not that I know of," Dean said. "I mean, other than with me." Sam kept his face carefully blank at the note of jealousy in his brother's voice.

"Maybe it wasn't Cas," he suggested. "Maybe Gabriel did it on his way out of town and just used Cas' name to mess with us." Dean looked relieved at that thought.

"You're probably right," he said. "Come on, let's hit the road."

"Hey, where the Hell is all the bourbon?" Dean complained. Sam gave him a shrug.

"You probably drank it all," he said irritably. The drive had been really long from Oregon and he just wanted to wash off the grimy feeling travelling always gave him and then get some sleep.

"Dammit, Sammy. I swear there was a new bottle somewhere." Dean began opening all the cabinets and banging them closed again.

"Look, I don't know. Cas wouldn't have drunk it, so obviously you did and you forgot. We can get some more tomorrow." Dean made a growling sound. "Dean, we've been on the road for days. I need a shower and some sleep. There's a six-pack in the fridge if you're desperate." Dean yanked open the refrigerator and snagged a bottle. He waved it at Sam who refused with a shake of his head.

"I'm beat. I'll see you in the morning."

"Maybe," Dean said with a grin and Sam stared at him. "Have you forgotten what day it is, Sam?" He thought for a moment.

"Oh. Valentine's Day. So you're going out?" Dean grinned at him and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Nice. I'll see you whenever then." He shuffled sulkily out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom.

* * *

When Sam padded into his room, wrapped in a towel and slightly chilly, it was to see three missed calls from Garth. He sighed and hesitated over the call button when the phone began to buzz again.

"Hey, Garth," he answered, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

"Sam!" Garth said delightedly. "I'm so glad to hear from you. Hey, you sound exhausted."

"We just got back from a job in Oregon," Sam explained.

"OK, no problem. We can keep this short, but I wanted to answer your question," Garth said, his voice dropping his usual happy tone and becoming almost solemn. "Caleb Watkins has something of a… reputation." Cold discomfort began to unfurl in Sam's chest.

"What kind of reputation?" He asked softly.

"He likes… boys. Young teens. Ellen barred him from the Roadhouse when he started creeping on the son of one of her regulars. I don't know who it was but she was pissed." Sam felt dizzy.

"When was this?" He could hear Garth sucking on his lip as he tried to remember.

"Maybe '93 or '94? I'm not really sure. It was long before I started hunting." Garth mused.

"How come you heard the story?" Sam asked him, the cold feeling spreading.

"Huh? Oh, he showed up at the Roadhouse one time when I was there. He was in a terrible state, yelling about sanctuary and begging Ellen to protect him. I don't know who or what was after him but Ellen didn't care. She kicked him out, shoved a shotgun in his face. Man, I'd never seen her so mad. I thought she was gonna blow his head off, for sure. I asked Jo what the story was. I figured he'd creeped on her, because why else would Ellen go crazy like that? But when I asked her about it Jo said she wasn't Caleb's type. She didn't know who it was Caleb _had_ creeped on but she said her mom had pulled out all the stops." Nausea coiled in Sam's stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she didn't just bar him from the Roadhouse. She made sure nobody would work with him, that none of the stores that supply hunters would give him the time of day."

"Did Dad know about this?" Sam managed.

"Everyone knew. But it wasn't talked about. He was just very carefully excluded from the community." There was a beat of silence and then Garth asked, "Why are you so interested in Caleb Watkins, Sam?" Sam tried to calm his breathing.

"His name came up in Dad's journal, in relation to a case he worked with Dad that had some overlap with the case we were working. Dean remembered him but I'd never heard the name before."

"Dean knew him?" Garth yelped and Sam's sense of unease wound even tighter.

"Yeah, he hates the guy." Sam said. "He clammed right up when I mentioned him, which is why I emailed you. I just wanted to know who he was. Now I'm sorry I asked." Garth was silent and Sam held his breath.

"Well," he said eventually. "He's a nasty piece of work. Everyone who ever knew him, hated him. I'm sure that's all it is." But he didn't sound convinced. "You know, I really have to go, Sam. It's been great talking to you and all, but I gotta…"

"Yeah, no. It's fine. Thanks Garth." Sam said and hung up. He didn't want to think about this anymore.

* * *

Dean grinned in triumph at the bottle of bourbon he'd brought home from the bar. Just as well, otherwise the evening would have been a total bust. None of the women in the bar had been receptive to his advances and if he was honest with himself his heart hadn't really been in it. He carried his consolation prize back to the library like a trophy, poured a generous measure into a glass and swallowed half of it in one mouthful. He had really hoped Cas would be here when they got back, since Gabriel was now free from Purgatory. But the Bunker had been empty and there was no sign the angel had been here while they'd been away. He threw himself into a chair and swallowed more bourbon before then unlacing his boots. He tossed them under the table and then as an afterthought, pulled off his socks as well and shoved them in one boot. He flexed his toes and gave a contented sigh, then refilled his glass again.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, drinking in silence and letting the alcohol relax him but he had made his way through most of the bottle and things were definitely hazy. A sound caught his attention and he turned to see Cas coming into the room with a strange look on his face.

"Hey, Cas!" He said expansively. "Come to join the party?" The angel looked around uncertainly.

"You're the only one here," he said after a moment.

"Not now I'm not," Dean said, favoring him with a sloppy grin. "You're here too." Cas looked confused, which Dean thought might be his favorite expression on the angel.

"I didn't mean to intrude," Cas said. "I was just returning this." He waved the book in his hand. Dean gestured vaguely to the bookcases.

"Knock yourself out." The angel nodded and then moved over to the shelves. "I think I should go to bed." Cas slipped the book onto a shelf and then turned to face him.

"Do you require assistance?" he said stiffly. Dean pulled a face at him.

"Nah. Just let me…" Dean tried to pull himself upright but his legs didn't seem to want to cooperate. "Uh, maybe." The angel gave a tiny sigh and then put his arm around Dean's shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

Lucifer, trying hard to keep his Cas impression in place, guided the hunter down the hall to his room and as they approached the bed, Dean went completely boneless. His eyes rolled back in his head and Lucifer swore under his breath. Why was he doing this again? Oh, yes…

Dean's eyelids flickered open again when Lucifer picked him up bodily and placed him on the bed.

"Hey, Cas," he slurred. "Come join me." Lucifer froze. Castiel had not indicated to him that things had progressed in such a manner. Dean tugged insistently at his arm and when he resisted, surged suddenly upwards and brought their mouths together. The hunter was very drunk and Lucifer wondered for a moment if this was a good idea. But he pushed his misgivings aside and opened his lips, thrusting his tongue into Dean's mouth and noting with a shiver that drunk or not, the older Winchester was really very good at this. Castiel was shrieking at him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he ignored the angel's pathetic bleating and let Dean pull him into bed.

"Cas…" Dean breathed as he trailed kisses along Lucifer's jaw and down his neck. Lucifer hummed in approval as the hunter nipped at his skin and slid his hands under his shirt.

"Dean," he rumbled in his best approximation of Castiel's voice and Dean groaned. He began tugging at Lucifer's clothing and let out a soft laugh when a tearing sound accompanied the removal of his shirt. Lucifer resisted the urge to dismiss their clothing with a gesture. The human seemed to be enjoying the undressing part and in truth he wasn't sure how far he was going to let this go. He was naked now and Dean was licking and biting his way down his torso, making happy little sounds as he went. And then Dean took him into his mouth and Lucifer gasped. No matter that Castiel had never seen Dean with a man before, this was not the hunter's first rodeo. In fact, his mouth felt so incredible, Lucifer wasn't sure he could contain himself much longer. He gently pushed Dean away, and rolled him over onto his back. The hunter's legs fell open and Lucifer settled himself between them, claiming Dean's mouth again for another searing kiss. He slid his fingers down between their bodies and watched the hunter writhe beneath him, gasping and wanton. Castiel had switched from shrieking to actively fighting him now, trying to push him aside and regain control of his vessel. But Lucifer clamped down viciously on his brother, he was enjoying himself and he was going to see this through! Dean tilted his hips and Lucifer gave Castiel one last push and then thrust himself inside Dean.

The hunter howled, and Lucifer froze. If Sam came running now, this could get rather awkward. But nothing happened and Dean was making desperate keening noises beneath him.

"Cas! Please, Cas. Oh, God."

* * *

"Cas! Please, Cas. Oh, God." Sam tugged a pillow over his head and wished fervently that sound didn't carry so well inside the Bunker. So much for lonely drifter Christmas! It wasn't that he didn't want his brother to be happy and if Cas had gotten over his insistence that they were only friends, well that was great. But he didn't actually want to listen to them fucking, for God's sake!

When the pillow proved less than effective, he opened the drawer of the nightstand and found a pair of earphones. He plugged them into his phone and pulled up Spotify, setting it to shuffle. Anything to block out the howling sounds coming down the hall.

"Envy's an unbecoming emotion, Sam." Sam reached out and turned on his lamp, but he was alone. He stared down at his phone, that was supposed to be playing Taylor Swift.

"You're tuned to Radio Gabriel. Don't touch that dial!"

"Very funny." Sam said sourly. He turned the light back off and flopped down onto his pillow.

"Aw, don't be such a wet blanket," Gabriel said through the earphones.

"How are you even doing this?"

"Uh, hello? Archangel?"

"OK, fine. What do you want?" Sam knew he was giving off mixed signals, but he really couldn't deal with Gabriel right now.

"Just checking in. I hear Castiel finally got what he wanted."  
"Please, just stop talking." He could feel Gabriel's amusement.

"Why, Sam, isn't this what you were hoping for?"

"Yes, but not like this. Not where I can hear it!" Suddenly it was blessedly silent.

"That better?" Gabriel purred in his ear and Sam shivered.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. I uh… I'd like to see you." Shit, he hadn't meant to say that.

"No can do, Sammy boy. Not right now. But maybe later, we'll see. Sweet dreams!" Taylor Swift began singing again and Sam pressed pause. Quiet. Bliss. He dumped his phone on the nightstand, and offered up a quick prayer of thanks to Gabriel, even though that felt a little weird. Then he rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

Dean looked awful and smelled worse Sam noticed. He wondered if Dean was going to mention who his bed partner had been the night before.

"Morning," he greeted his brother and concealed a smile as Dean grunted at him and coughed. Sam noticed a mark on Dean's neck. Oh, God.

"Is that a hickey?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

"And? It was Valentine's day."

"Wow," Sam commented. He watched his brother carefully.

"Can't help it if I'm a hopeless romantic," Dean added casually.

"You got half of that right," Sam snarked.

Dean cleared his throat. "Just doing my civic duty," he laughed. "Helping all the single ladies. You know the best thing about February 14th? You don't have to be Mr. Right - just Mr. Right Now." Did Dean really think he hadn't heard him last night?

"That's classy," Sam heard himself say. Dean was unimpressed.

"Yeah? What'd you do, judgy? Curl up in your snuggie? Watch '50 Shades' on cable?" Sam breathed through his nose. He was not going to rise to this.

"Yeah. No," he took a mouthful of coffee and changed the subject. "Check this out. Staci Altman, 19-year-old babysitter from Hudson, Ohio, was murdered last night."

"Well, that blows," Dean said callously. "But if her name's not Amara, how is that us?"

"Because her heart was ripped out." Sam said patiently.

"On Valentine's day?" Dean asked, his interest beginning to stir.

"Yeah."

"Mm. Was it, like, an ironic werewolf? All right, we'll check it out. But, first, I need bacon."

"No, first, you need a shower." Sam said waspishly.

"Is it- "

"Yeah," Sam said acidly.

Dean sniffed himself and wrinkled his nose. "You're not wrong." Sam shook his head in disbelief as his brother ambled off to get cleaned up.

"So, still no sign of Cas then?" Sam said casually as Dean climbed back into the car. His brother tensed for a moment and then shook his head.

"No," he said finally, his eyes averted. He started the engine and pulled jerkily out of the gas station.

"Huh," he said finally. "You know, it's strange."  
"What's strange? Nothing's strange," Dean said too quickly and Sam stared at him.

"Well, Cas told you that all his disappearances were because he was working on finding a way to get Gabriel out of Purgatory, right? Well, Gabriel's free and Cas is still missing in action," Sam said reasonably. Dean's hands tightened on the wheel.

"He's working on stuff, OK? Trying to find a way to defeat Amara." Dean said through gritted teeth.

"OK," Sam said slowly, noting his brother's reaction. "But you'd think he'd at least stop by to say hello."

"I told you, he's busy!" Dean snapped and Sam recoiled. "Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"All right, Dean. Chill. I was just wondering, that's all." Sam said, trying to keep a lid on his own temper. Dean ignored him, staring at the road in stony silence.

They drove like for several miles, Sam staring out of the window and Dean keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

"I'm sorry," Dean said suddenly. Sam almost swallowed his tongue in surprise. "I'm worried about Cas and I took it out on you."

"It's OK," Sam said, instantly forgiving him. "I'm sorry too. I wasn't trying to upset you."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. He gave Sam a friendly punch in the arm. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam retorted happily.

"So where's Gabriel in all this," Dean asked slyly.

Sam pulled a face. "Who knows? He'll be back if it suits him."

"You're not…" Sam looked steadily at Dean as he waved his hand at Sam vaguely.

"Not what?" Sam folded his arms and waited.

"Uh. Y'know. Getting together?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, Dean. That was never going to happen, you know that right?" Dean looked sharply at him.

"It wasn't?" He sounded confused and almost hurt. Sam sighed, maybe his brother really was a romantic at heart.

"No. Look, I know I... went off the deep end. And I'm still in love with him," Sam admitted and Dean made a sort of strangled sound. "I just accept that this is how it is. I accept him. He can't return my feelings and… that's OK. I'm OK. I'm not the first person to suffer from unrequited love. It hurts, sure. But I won't die from a broken heart." Dean was silent and Sam thought he'd exhausted his brother's supply of chick-flick moments for the week.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said softly. "I really am." Sam shook his head.

"Thanks." He eyed his brother carefully, but it seemed no more revelations were going to be forthcoming. He leaned his head back, thinking about Dean's confession in the motel room about Amara. It wasn't fair really, Dean taking all of this on himself. After all, Sam had been the one to fuck up and unleash her on the world. Well, fine. He could clean up his own mess. And if Dean can't help, well that just means he has to get it right. For once.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

"Oh, it's just - I don't need you anymore. I mean, Dean's the one with the link to Amara, why have I been trying to spare you?" Cas's rumbling tones had gone and Sam felt a chill down his spine. He knew the voice that was speaking now only too well. "I mean maybe it's because you're like the girl who kept turning me down at the prom." He grabbed Sam and slammed him against a column, forcing all the air out of Sam's lungs.

"I will touch your soul," the angel said in that same light, vicious tone. "Just because you asked so nicely, and I'll use your spell to blast through the warding and retrieve Dean and the uh, Hand of God, and then when Dean comes back and he finds this place decorated with your guts, I will tell him the truth, Sam. I'll just say, 'Dean - ' He paused and smiled before dropping his voice back into Cas's deeper registers. " 'Dean… he knew the risks. He wouldn't take no for an answer.'"

"Lucifer," Sam breathed. Lucifer looked delighted.

"In the flesh," he agreed. He pressed his body against Sam's. Cas's body. Sam shuddered in revulsion and horror. Lucifer leaned forward, his face close to Sam's and he placed a gentle kiss on Sam's lips. Sam struggled uselessly, turning his head away.

"Sam," Lucifer said. "Come on. I know you want to."

"No!" Sam yelled. Lucifer regarded him for a moment then gave a heavy sigh. He laid his hand against Sam's chest and began to shove inside to find Sam's soul. The pain was unimaginable and Sam screamed in agony. Lucifer's face was ecstatic.

"Oh, Sam" he breathed. He tucked his head into Sam's neck and scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin there and Sam's shivered in revulsion. "You feel so good," Lucifer said and he lifted his head. Suddenly, his expression twisted and he pulled his hand away. Sam slumped to the ground and everything went black.

* * *

As Sam lay on the floor, slowly regaining his senses, his head was spinning. Lucifer! What the Hell was going on? He carefully sat up as Cas's body toppled to the floor beside him. Unnerved, Sam scrambled away as best he could.

"No, no!"

"Sam, it's me," Cas said with obvious effort.

"Cas?" Sam said, even more confused. "Why?"

"I wanted to be of service to the fight. And only Lucifer can beat her." He was breathing hard, as if every word was a struggle to speak.

Sam stared at the angel, utterly appalled. "You chose this? You have to fight, Cas! Eject him now!"

"I can't!" Cas grunted, shaking his head. "It's taking all my strength to keep him from killing you. And besides, we need him!"

"No Cas, we don't." Sam denied. "We'll find another way to stop Amara!"

"We need him to save Dean," Cas insisted.

Sam sighed as realization dawned. "You can't time travel."

Cas shook his head again. "Only Lucifer can." He closed his eyes and there was a sudden agonized look before Lucifer's sneering expression returned.

"It seems Castiel would very much like me to rescue your brother," he told Sam. "And right now, he's making it difficult for me to kill you." He gave a big sigh, looking very put out. "Fine." He pulled himself to his feet and stared down at Sam. "Maybe he's right." And with that perplexing statement, he disappeared.

* * *

Dean felt Cas's hand fall on his shoulder and the next thing he knew he was back in the bunker. Sam was lying on the floor and Dean stared at him, puzzled.

"Dean -" Sam barked. "THAT'S NOT CAS!" Dean gaped at him for a moment and then turned slowly to look at the angel who looked both sheepish and gleeful.

"Cat's out!" he said in amusement and grabbed Dean, throwing him across the table. Dean's brain had completely short-circuited. "I feel a burden lifted. You know, this whole - deep cover thing - it just wasn't - it wasn't terribly well thought out. Donning this - this Cas mask?" _Lucifer?_ Dean's insides twisted in shock. Oh, no. No, no, fuck no! Lucifer continued monologuing at him. "This grim face of angelic constipation? It just - ugh. And then, teaming up with you two. I mean, I thought you boys were insufferable as mortal enemies, but working with you. That's the soul crusher." Dean struggled to get to his feet and behind C-Lucifer, he could see Sam pulling out a knife and cutting his hand. Lucifer made a careless gesture and pinned Dean against the wall with his power.

How long had Lucifer been keeping up this charade, Dean wondered in horror. Who exactly had he slept with on Valentine's night? He felt sick. That had been after they'd returned from Hell.

"Why the faces, boys? You should be cheering," Lucifer continued. Dean tried to suppress the appalling emotions within him and watched as Sam painted the angel-banishment sigil with his blood on the wall behind him "We have a common enemy. With this," Lucifer brandished the Hand of God Dean had brought back from the USS Bluefin, still wrapped in cloth. "She will be no problem. I mean, I will have killed you both by then, but still. Come on." Lucifer flashed Dean a grin and then unwrapped the Hand of God.

"No!" Dean yelled. Lucifer placed his hand on the Hand of God and then turned it over in his hand. "NO!" Lucifer ignored him and closed his eyes, his face expectant. After a moment, he frowned. Dean stared at him. What was going on? He flicked his eyes back to Sam, who was almost finished. He looked back at Lucifer.

"It's kicked!" Lucifer snarled.

Relief washed over Dean. "Well. Who'd've thought the Hand of God would turn out to be a one-hitter?" he said. Lucifer tossed the useless object onto the table and advanced on Dean, his face menacing. Sam slapped his hand against the sigil and with a flash of light, and a shriek of rage, Lucifer was gone. Dean exchanged a look with his brother and collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Dean was slumped over the library table. Two empty bourbon bottles and no fewer than a dozen beer bottles were scattered over the surface. Oh shit, Dean had really gone all in this time. He was snoring gently and drooling on the table. Lovely. Sam laid one hand on Dean's shoulder and his brother startled rather dramatically, almost falling out of his chair.

"Sam! It's you," he said unnecessarily.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said carefully. This was fucking awful. This was worse than fucking awful. Dean was a mess. And with good reason, Sam admitted to himself. Even without the added burden of his brother's Valentine's Day activities, the revelation that Cas had allowed himself to be possessed by Lucifer was almost too much for Sam to bear. His skin crawled at the thought of the archangel creeping around the Bunker while he and Dean slept. The moment the Cas mask had slipped and Lucifer in all his terrible viciousness had smiled at him wearing Cas' face, had made him want to vomit and howl and scream at the sky. How Dean must feel, Sam couldn't even imagine. What had Lucifer wanted? Why take Dean to bed like that? It wasn't that Lucifer was a prude, far from it. But he'd always seemed fixated on Sam. Had Sam's refusal to host him again finally turned Lucifer's attentions elsewhere? Did that mean he wanted Dean now or was it a side effect of possessing Cas? It seemed unlikely. More probably, this was some level of mind-fuck. On Cas, or Dean or maybe both of them. That Sam could easily believe.

What the Hell were they going to do? It had been bad enough when they only had Amara to deal with. Now Lucifer was free to unleash whatever alternative Apocalypse he could imagine on the world, and it was Cas of all people who was responsible. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pain thudding along his nerve-endings.

"Sam?" A concerned voice sounded in his head. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Gabriel?" Oh, no. Not now. Not on top of everything else.

"Yeah, kiddo. What's happened? I can feel your distress from here." Gabriel's voice was strangely soothing.

"Something bad. Where are you?"

"I'll be with you as soon as I can. Hold tight." He shouldn't feel relief that Gabriel was coming. Spending time with the archangel was going to hurt. But the tension in his head relaxed and he gave a grateful sigh.

* * *

Gabriel eyed the unconscious Dean on the table for a moment. He did not look amused.

"Castiel invited Lucifer into his vessel?" he said again, sounding almost dazed. "I guess his induction into the Winchester family is complete."  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam snapped. Gabriel was not taking this news very well, which he figured was only to be expected.

"Self-sacrificing idiocy and a woeful lack of self-worth," the archangel said archly, one eyebrow canted at Sam. "Do I have to do everything myself?"

"Hey," Sam said, wounded. "It's not my fault." Except it was of course. If he hadn't gone haring off to Hell with Rowena and Crowley, Lucifer wouldn't have had a chance to tempt Cas into saying yes.

"I wonder what my brother said to Castiel to make him agree," Gabriel mused and Sam couldn't help but think it might be Dean's fault. Gabriel's other eyebrow rose to meet the first one. Sam really needed to remember the archangel could read his mind.

"Look, Cas and Dean's relationship is complicated," Sam tried to explain. Gabriel laughed, a bright merry sound that seemed entirely inappropriate.

"Are you talking about my brother's almost psychotic repression or Dean's?" he snarked and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, OK. That's fair. Honestly, you should try living with it, the constant longing looks and moments of unbearable sexual tension," Sam admitted. Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. "But I think this is about something else. Cas said something to me, a few months back. It was just in passing and dammit, I didn't think anything of it at the time, because you know. I was focused on the ungodly mess we'd made by setting Amara free." Gabriel's attention was completely riveted on him now and Sam tried not to notice how good it felt. "I was moping I guess, because I'd just gambled the world to save Dean and fuck, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Even knowing what I know now. Which makes me a bad person, I suppose. And Cas was telling me he felt the same, which wasn't exactly a shock. And then he said, 'I'm not much use to anyone anymore, but if I can make this right, I will.' I heard him, and I was too wrapped up in my own misery to see how defeated that sounds."

"Fuck," Gabriel said with feeling. He leaned over and punched Dean in the arm, hard. Dean twitched and groaned.

"Quit it, Sammy," he muttered. Gabriel rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated.

"I should let you both rot," the archangel said grumpily. "If you hadn't just managed to doom the world two separate ways from Sunday, I probably would. But no, Winchester drama has to come with a side order of Apocalypse!"

"I said I was sorry," Sam said sullenly. "What else do you want me to say?" Gabriel rotated his shoulders and cracked his knuckles.

"Fine. I'll be in touch." Gabriel said shortly, snapped his fingers and was gone. Sam stared at the space where the archangel had been and swore.

* * *

"Forget him, Sam," Dean insisted. "I got it wrong. I thought you and he… Well, never mind what I thought. The asshole's ditched us to clean up our own mess and maybe we deserve that but Cas got his ass out of Purgatory and he owes him, dammit. But I am not going cap in hand to beg to that motherfucker, and neither are you." Sam looked away, staring out over the water of the lake. Two small boys were playing with a ball near the water's edge, and their mother hovered protectively on the beach. He gave a sigh, hating how sad it sounded and the tension that dragged at his brother's mouth.

"Yeah. You're right, I know. I'm being stupid. We keep going, just like we always have. We figure this out, stop Amara, get Cas back. We can do this. We don't need Ga- anyone's help." Dean gave him a wary glance at his stumble but mercifully kept his mouth shut.

"OK, then. Are you ready to head home?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head. The ball had bounced out of the younger boy's hands and landed in the water that lapped at the shore. The boy tried to grab it but the movement of the water just kept it out of reach. The older boy began to scold, but did nothing to help. He stood there, hands on his hips and taunted his brother. Sam looked at Dean and felt a wave of gratitude. His brother had his back. He'd always had his back, even when Sam hadn't had his. Guilt was an old friend, a heavy lump in his throat that never went away. He turned his head away, not wanting the tears that threatened at the back of his eyes. Dean either didn't notice, or pretended he didn't. He patted Sam's arm and stood.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go home."

* * *

The Bunker, once a place of refuge, felt violated. Even though it was the same, the knowledge that Lucifer had been able to come and go freely here left a sour taste in Dean's mouth. Not to mention… He quickly squashed that thought down, if he let himself even think about what had happened, he might just eat a bullet right now and he couldn't afford to do that. He watched his brother as he pottered around the kitchen, making some God-awful rabbit food that he'd eat because it made Sam happy and these days, precious little did. That Gabriel had taken one look at the Hellish shitscape of their lives and bailed shouldn't have been a surprise. But the full power and terror of the archangel in that motel room had made Dean suspect that Gabriel might not love Sam, might not even be capable of loving anyone but himself, but he _was_ possessive and not willing to share. Dean had hoped that might be enough, but that was apparently the triumph of hope over experience, or some other bullshit flowery phrase that might come out of Sam's mouth.

 _Cas. Fucking Hell, man. What did I do to make you do this to yourself?_

 _I'm sorry, Dean. But it was the only way._ The sense of the angel was warm and comforting in his mind.

 _Cas! Can Lucifer hear us like this?_ Dean felt his heart begin to race and his breathing become a little fast.

 _No. I don't think so. But don't say anything you don't want him to know anyway, just in case._ Cas replied.

 _OK. OK, I can manage that._ An image of himself kissing Cas, fuck no, kissing Lucifer pretending to be Cas, flashed through his mind and he ruthlessly suppressed it, but not before he felt a stab of pain from the angel. _I'm sorry, Cas. I never meant to make you feel useless or unwanted._ There was silence and Dean wasn't sure if the connection between them had been lost or if Cas was just too unhappy with him to talk.

 _No, Dean. I'm just… I only wanted to do the right thing. Lucifer said he could beat Amara, and I believe him. What other point is there to my existence, if not to do this?_ Dean's throat began to close. _I needed to feel useful to you again._

 _Cas, what makes you think you weren't useful? Or that I only want you around because you are useful, and once you're not I'd ditch you?_

 _Well,_ the angel's mental voice was hesitant. _I was going on past experience._ It was like a knife in his gut. When Gadreel had been possessing Sam, and Cas had become mortal, he'd kicked him out of the Bunker so fast his head must have spun. Because Gadreel had threatened Sam's life if he hadn't.

 _Cas, that wasn't because of you. That was Gadreel, and he held Sam's life in his hands. I had to choose, and I thought you were the stronger one._ Anguish squeezed at his heart, had Cas really thought he'd kicked him out because he was no longer useful? Hadn't he explained all of this already?

 _Stronger?_ The angel sounded amazed. _You think I'm stronger than Sam?_

 _Hell, yes. I love Sam, and I'll do anything to protect him. But I'm not blind to his weaknesses,_ Dean admitted sadly.

 _Dean, I… I lo-_

The connection went dead. Just like that. Dean was left feeling cold from the sudden absence of the angel's presence.

 _Cas? Cas!_

Nothing. Cas was gone.

* * *

Sam looked over to Dean, who was half-slumped over a book. Not a typical sight, he thought. Maybe he should take a picture? _And send it to whom? It's not like you've got any friends._ He took a deep breath.

"Hey," he said casually. Dean's head came up like a terrier. "I might have something."

"What is it?" Dean asked breathlessly. "Something to help Cas? Or defeat Amara?" Sam shook his head.

"No. I wish it were. But it might be a case." Dean's shoulders slumped.

"Pass." Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Don't you even want to hear about it?"

"Nope. Focus, Sam. We have two really big problems to solve and no leads. Concentrate on that."

"Come on, Dean. I'm going blind here. I need to get out of the Bunker for a few days, clear my head. So do you," Sam insisted and was treated to a theatrical sigh from his brother.

"All right, all right. Tell me what you've found and I'll think about it."

"OK, so get this. Belinda Mullins, in Greenville, South Carolina went missing three weeks ago. She left work at the usual time, never came home. Her husband called the police, explaining that she had really bad asthma and he was worried. Police put out a BOLO, there's an appeal on the local news, you get the idea. So far, so tragic but not necessarily anything supernatural. She turned up again yesterday. Just walked in the house as if she'd never been away. She has no memory of being missing, in fact as far as she is concerned no time has passed."

"Weird," Dean commented. "But you know, maybe she just had a breakdown."

"Well, maybe. But where was she for three weeks? Her car had half a tank of gas, which is about what the husband said she would have left unless she filled up. Her last service was just four days before she disappeared, so they know what the mileage was. She'd only added a couple hundred miles since then,which given she does a twenty-five mile commute doesn't seem excessive. She seems to have suffered no ill effects, the doctors who examined her said there were no signs she was malnourished or -" Sam wrinkled his nose. "OK, this is a little gross. But analysis of her stool was consistent with the last thing she remembered eating, a tuna salad wrap, some salted popcorn and a handful of almonds that she had for lunch."

"Nice," Dean said. "OK, so are you saying that she jumped forward in time somehow? Like, I dunno, a wormhole or something."

"Maybe," Sam agreed. "I mean, there's plenty of lore on this stuff. And then there's things like the Philadelphia Experiment."

"Dude, that was a movie." Dean said laughingly.

"Well, yeah. But it was based on a true story." Sam insisted. Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, it doesn't matter. What matters is, where was Belinda Mullins for three weeks and why doesn't she remember anything about it?"

"What about her cell?" Dean asked. Sam flicked through his notes.

"Nothing much. No calls after calling her husband the day she disappeared. Time and date were correct, but since most phones get that from the network, I don't know that it tells us anything. Cellphone data from local towers don't register a ping from her phone the whole time she was gone."

"Was it charged?"

"Uh, yeah. She had an in-car charger, so again, nothing to help us out."

"It could be something, I guess," Dean said dubiously.

"I mean it could be an Agatha Christie," Sam admitted. Dean looked puzzled. "British crime writer, wrote those cozy mysteries in quaint English villages. Miss Marple. And Inspector Poirot, the Belgian detective."

"What? Yeah, no I know who she is. Mom used to read her books sometimes." Dean's eyes went distant for a moment. "How is this relevant to our missing woman?"

"Oh! See, Agatha Christie went missing, back in the 1920's.. She was gone for a couple of weeks I think. Nobody knew where she went. Eventually she turned up at some fancy hotel in the North of England, under a false name. She would never explain why she disappeared or what she had been doing, but her husband was having an affair and had asked for a divorce," Sam explained. "So, maybe Mrs Mullins did something like that. But why claim not to remember where she'd been? What did she live on? There was no record of her withdrawing significant cash before she vanished and her credit and debit cards weren't used. Plus, to meticulously ensure that her stomach contents would match her last known meal - that's a whole new level of crazy." Dean nodded thoughtfully.

"It is odd, Sam. No question. I just don't know if I want to go chasing after this right now." Sam looked disappointed so he added, "Look, why don't you go take a look. I'll stay here and keep working. If it turns out to be something, give me a call and I'll come meet you." Sam thought about it for a moment.

"OK. You're probably right, it is a little thin." Sam stood up. "I'll go check it out and if there's anything there, I'll let you know."

* * *

The Mullins house was small and a little shabby and the two cars parked on the driveway were more than ten years old. But the yard was neat and the cat that lounged on the front step looked well fed. Not wealthy, but not really poor either. Sam looked at his notes again. Mrs Mullins was a public defender, her husband was a construction worker. He wondered vaguely how well public defending paid. He pressed the doorbell and could hear it inside the house. A dog barked off in the distance, but there was no sign of anyone moving inside.

Sam looked to see if any of the neighbors was watching and then tried the door. Locked, of course. He slipped his lock-picking tools out of his pocket and poked at the cheap lock for a moment and made a satisfied sound as it clicked. He turned the knob quietly and slipped inside the house.

It was the smell that hit him first, like old copper pennies and rotting meat. There was something dead in here and Sam had a sick feeling it was human. Flies buzzed lazily in the hallway and Sam crept across the laminate floor as silently as he could manage and poked his head inside the living room, his gun held out in front of him. There was someone sitting in an armchair, facing the TV, but whoever they were had quite literally lost their head. Sam gave the corpse a cursory glance, a stocky male body that was most likely Arthur Mullins. A creak from upstairs made him freeze and then he moved quickly back out into the hall and up the stairs.

The first two bedrooms were empty, but the third contained Belinda Mullins, mostly naked and covered in blood. She grinned crazily at Sam.

"Well, if it isn't Sam Winchester!" she exclaimed. Sam was getting a little tired of being recognized by monsters all the time. "Where's your brother?"

"Not here," Sam told her. "How do you…"

"Amara has a message for him," Belinda said, nodding to herself. "A message, a message."

"OK," Sam said slowly. "If you tell me what it is I can pass it on." Belinda's eyes went distant for a moment.

"I'm really supposed to tell Dean," she said finally. "Tell him to come upstairs."

"I wasn't kidding," Sam said. "Dean's not here. I came on my own."

"Really?" she said in a soft, childlike voice. "Oh dear." Her eyes unfocused again for a moment. "Amara is most displeased. I've failed her."

"Look, why don't I call Dean now, on my cell. And you can tell him the message that way." Sam suggested, tugging his phone out of his pocket. Belinda rocked back and forth, humming and whispering nonsensically for several seconds. Just when Sam was beginning to think he'd get nothing more out of her, she stopped and nodded.

"Phone him. That will work." Sam punched up Dean's cell and put it on speaker. Two rings and then Dean's gruff voice answered.

"Sammy? You OK?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm fine. I've got Belinda Mullins here."

"Who?"

"The missing time woman."

"Oh, yeah. OK? Why are you calling me?" Dean sounded like he'd been drinking again. It was only 3 o'clock. Sam sighed.

"She says she has a message for you, from Amara." There was a rustling sound and the clink of a glass hitting a hard surface.

"Really? OK, shoot."

"Hi Dean," Belinda said coyly as Sam held the phone out to her. "Amara says hi."

"That had better not be the whole message," Dean said warningly. Belinda laughed.

"No silly. Of course not. She says she needs you to do something for her. Something important." Belinda laughed again and Sam's stomach roiled uncomfortably.

"And why should I be doing favors for Amara," Dean growled.

"Well, it's not so much a favor," Belinda said in a sing-song tone. "More an exchange. She has something you want. And you have something she needs."

"I'm listening," Dean said shortly. Sam opened his mouth to object but then changed his mind. Dean was handling this OK for now.

"You've got the keys to Lucifer's Cage," Belinda said. "Amara wants them."

"Wait," Dean stuttered in surprise. "How the Hell does she know that?"

"Is omniscient too difficult a word for you?" Belinda snapped viciously and Sam recoiled at her sudden change of mood. "She knows. That's all you need to know."

"Well, then her information's wrong. Or at least, out of date." Dean told her. "We only have three of the four horsemen's rings. Death took his back."

"Death's dead! Didn't you retrieve it then?" Belinda cried. Sam shook his head. They'd been distracted by the spell that had removed the Mark of Cain from Dean and the subsequent release of the Darkness. What had happened to Death, his possessions or even his body Sam had no idea. "We had other concerns," he told Belinda.

"Nevertheless, Amara wants the other three."

"Yeah. And what does she have that we want so badly?"

"A way to rescue your pet angel of course. To push Lucifer out of his vessel." _Dammit, Amara certainly understood Dean well enough to know which buttons to push._

"Fine," Dean said abruptly. "Three horsemen's rings for the knowledge of how to save Cas. I'll take that deal."

"Wait," Sam objected. "Aren't you going to ask what Amara plans to do with those rings?" Belinda was laughing again.

"Haven't you figured it out?" she chortled. "She wants to free Michael from the Cage. Raphael and Gabriel are dead and beyond her vengeance. But Michael is still alive." Sam frowned at her. He'd never been a fan of Michael and considered the archangel's absence as no big loss. He felt a pang of guilt, Michael was still inside his half-brother too. But if Amara sprung him from the Cage, what would that mean? Lucifer claimed Michael had lost his mind, but Sam was hardly going to take his word for it. And if by some chance they did manage to kill or recapture the Darkness, would Lucifer and Michael kick off the Apocalypse again?

'Yeah, I figured," Dean said and Sam stared at his phone. He'd forgotten his brother was still there at the other end of the line.

"Then Amara will make the arrangements for the exchange. She will send a message with the meeting place soon." Belinda declared.

"Awesome," Dean said and hung up. Belinda eyed Sam hungrily and he shifted in discomfort.

"So, Sam…" she drawled, "I hadn't appreciated what a delicious morsel you are. Amara only has eyes for Dean it seems. But you're much more to my taste." Sam backed away but he was too slow, she launched herself at him and bit savagely at his neck. He shoved her hard, and she flew backwards against the wall. Her head hit the dresser with a loud crack and she slumped to the floor and lay still. After a moment Sam dragged himself towards her and checked her pulse. She was dead. He sighed and shuffled off to the bathroom to examine his neck, but luckily she hadn't managed to break the skin. He'd have an impressive bruise that Dean would no doubt find highly amusing, but nothing more than that.


	21. Chapter Twenty

"Dean?" Sam called out as he entered the Bunker. There was no response. He checked the kitchen and the library, which were both rather messy and there was a stale smell of rotting food in the air. Sam had been gone no more than 36 hours and Dean had slobbed out completely. Sam wrinkled his nose and headed down to his brother's room. It was after 12 but that didn't mean Dean wasn't still in bed. He rapped smartly at Dean's door and then tried the handle. Dean was sprawled on his bed, wearing only his shorts and a t-shirt.

"Dean!" Sam barked and his brother blinked his eyes open sleepily.

"Hey, Sam," he slurred. "Wha' time issit?" Sam looked at his watch.

"12:40," he said witheringly.

There was a beat and then Dean added, "Uh, wha' day?"

"Have you spent the last two days drunk?" Sam demanded. Dean closed his eyes again.

"No," he said tiredly. "Yes. Maybe."

"Get up. Take a shower. I'll make you something to eat," Sam told him, worry and irritation warring for dominance inside him. He turned on his heel and left his brother to pull himself together.

Dean groaned in pain. His brother was right, he had drank steadily since Sam had left and his body was letting him know that it did not appreciate being treated in this fashion. He dragged himself out of bed and snagged his robe before slouching down the hall to the bathroom. He stared blearily at himself in the mirror.

"Cas is depending on you," he told his reflection. "Sam's gotta gank Amara, so saving Cas is on you." His reflection grinned at him and Dean started, poking at his face to see if he was smiling without realizing it.

"Is that right?" Dean's reflection said sarcastically. "You're going to save Cas. You."

"Shut up," Dean said.

"You can't save Cas. You can't even save yourself. Sam sure doesn't need you anymore. Why do you even bother?" The reflection continued to taunt him. Dean's head swam, what the fuck was going on? "And what is Cas going to say about you and Lucifer doing the horizontal tango?" Dean's gorge rose, he'd been trying not to think about that.

"I thought it was him," he growled and his reflection laughed at him.

"You think that makes it better? Hey Cas, sorry I banged your brother, I didn't notice he wasn't you. Oh, I'm gonna need some popcorn for that." This was ridiculous, why was he arguing with himself in a mirror. Was he losing his mind? "Losing implies there's something left. You climbed on board the crazy train a _long_ time ago!" The reflection kept laughing at him, loud and manic until Dean could stand it no longer and he drove his fist into the mirror, shattering glass and blood everywhere.

* * *

Sam poked through the cabinets and the fridge, looking for something he could turn into a nutritious meal for Dean. There wasn't much to work with, but he found some eggs, cheese and vegetables he could throw together into an omelet. That would have to do until Sam got more groceries. He whisked the eggs together in a glass jug and had just started slicing up a tomato when he heard a yell and a smashing sound. He dashed out of the kitchen, the knife still in his hand.

"Dean!" He cried out. His brother's room was empty, so Sam continued on to the bathroom. The door was locked but he could hear Dean inside, muttering to himself. He hammered on the door and after a moment, he heard the lock click and the door opened slowly.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes opened at the mess of broken glass on the floor and the blood dripping from Dean's hand. "Dean, what the Hell happened in here?"

"I slipped," Dean said sullenly.

"Really," Sam retorted. "You slipped and accidentally punched the mirror. What the Hell, Dean?" He grabbed Dean's hand and swore. There were several tiny slivers of glass embedded in Dean's skin. "Hold still, I'm going to get this glass out of your hand." Dean's face twisted, but he didn't protest. Sam found tweezers, iodine and bandages in the cabinet under the sink. He pointed his chin towards the edge of the tub and his brother perched there dutifully. Sam carefully extracted each tiny shard of glass from Dean's hand and then cleaned the area with the iodine. Finally, he bandaged his brother's hand and then looked at him. Dean looked down at the floor.

"Tell me what's going on, Dean," Sam said and waited patiently as his brother gathered himself together.

"It's probably nothing," Dean said eventually. "I overdid it while you were in South Carolina, and I guess I'm paying the price. I think I started hallucinating." A cold feeling washed over Sam.

"What kind of hallucination," he asked nervously. This was not good.

"I thought my reflection was talking to me," Dean confessed in a low voice.

"Oh," Sam said idiotically. There wasn't much he could say to that. Nothing good, anyway. "What did it say?" Dean sighed.

"Nothing really. Just taunted me about saving Cas. Or rather, not being able to save Cas."

"Ignore it," Sam advised. "It's probably just your guilty conscience." Dean's head whipped around so fast, Sam was surprised it didn't make an audible sound.

"Why would I be feeling guilty?" Dean snarled at him and Sam instantly regretted opening his big mouth.

"I just mean, uh, that neither of us noticed that Lucifer had taken possession of Cas," he said lamely. Dean glared at him, but could hardly deny it.

"Yeah, well, OK. You're probably right," he acknowledged. Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go use the other bathroom while I clean up in here," Sam said, keeping his tone light and easy. "I'll make you something to eat once you've had a shower."

* * *

After sweeping up the broken glass, Sam went back to the kitchen. He wrapped the broken glass in thick layers of newspaper before placing them in the trashcan and then returned to chopping vegetables. When Dean appeared, pale and damp, he gave him a bright smile.

"Omelet work out OK for you? We haven't got much in the way of groceries. I'll go to the store later, but I'm hungry now and you look like you could do with some real food." Dean nodded and made his way over to the coffee pot. He emptied the machine, slowly and carefully, as though he didn't trust himself to move any faster. Sam kept quiet and let Dean regain his equilibrium.

"You know, don't you?" Dean said bitterly, making Sam's head come up in alarm.

"Know what, Dean?"

"About me and Cas. Except, it was Lucifer all along." Acid etched Dean's words and Sam's world tilted on its axis slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I… it was impossible not to hear, Dean. Sound carries pretty well down here." Sam said softly, hating the way his brother's shoulders tensed.

"And?" Dean prompted.

A line appeared between Sam's eyes as he squinted at Dean in confusion. "And what?" he asked, unsure where Dean was going with this.

"Aren't you going to yell at me? Tell me I was stupid, tell me what a big mistake I made, what a fucking hypocrite I am after tearing you a new asshole over Gabriel and Lugh?" Dean kept his gaze on the coffee machine as he spoke.

"No, Dean," Sam replied simply. "Because I don't think any of those things. I've been waiting for you and Cas to get a clue since the day we all met. Honestly? I was glad. Until we found out it was Lucifer instead."

"I should have realized," Dean said, his head hanging down in defeat. "How could I not have seen it?"

"We both should have seen it. It's on us, no question," Sam agreed. "But Lucifer is the most manipulative son-of-a-bitch there is. There's no shame in being fooled by him, Dean. Trust me, I know that better than anyone." Dean pressed the switch on the coffeemaker, and turned to face Sam. His eyes shimmered and Sam began to feel the stirrings of real concern.

"What am I going to do, Sam?" His brother asked brokenly. "What the fuck am I going to do?"  
"You're going to save him," Sam told him firmly. "Never doubt that. We'll find a way. You'll find a way."

"Yeah? And what then? What am I going to say to him? What if he can't forgive me for what I've done?" Dean's voice cracked alarmingly and Sam moved over and placed one hand on his shoulder. Dean was quivering with suppressed emotion, and Sam felt tears pricking the back of his own eyes. What a fucking mess.

"He'll forgive you," Sam assured Dean with a confidence he didn't feel. Actually, he wasn't certain Cas wasn't going to be pissed at Dean, but surely he would understand. And if he didn't, maybe he could ask Gabriel to have a word or something. Like Gabriel's gonna do favors for you, his brain supplied helpfully. Sam ignored it.

* * *

"Do you want to come to the grocery store with me," Sam asked his brother a few hours later. Dean looked up from his morose contemplation of his hands.

"Yeah, sure. But only because you always forget the pie," Dean said with the air of one much put upon. Sam rolled his eyes.

"One time," he argued. "I forgot one time and you never let me hear the end of it."

"Yeah? And what about the time you brought cake? What was that?" Dean shot back.

"There wasn't any pie. None. So I got the next best thing," Sam defended himself.

"In what universe is cake anything like as good as pie?"

"The universe in which there was no fucking pie!" Sam yelled. "Jerk!"

"Bitch!" Dean snapped back and then started laughing. Sam was red in the face and after a moment of staring furiously at his brother, he began to laugh as well.

"Ah, your face," Dean howled. "The cake thing gets you every time."

"Fuck you," Sam said good-naturedly. "That cake was pretty good."

"Maybe," Dean allowed as he dug his keys out of his jeans. "But it was no pie." They bickered all the way to the grocery store and Sam felt strangely happy with it. It was normal after all, and normal had been in short supply recently.

Sam loaded the cart with fruit, vegetables, lean meat and yogurt. Dean threw coffee, soda, chips, candy and of course pie in after them. They tussled briefly over the bread, Dean insistent on the soft white loaf and Sam preferring the whole wheat, but in the end he let Dean win.

"Ain't this cute," said a familiar voice and Sam whirled around to see Gabriel perched on a pile of soda cans.

"Look at you, little Pepsi angel," Dean said in amusement.

Gabriel snarled at him. "I didn't come here to be insulted," he said, seeming wounded.

Dean laughed. "You don't know me very well then," he commented. "Sam, I'm gonna go find some cheese while you flirt with your boyfriend." And with that parting shot, he wandered off to the dairy aisle.

"Nice," Sam said in irritation. He turned his attention to Gabriel, who had a strange expression on his face.

"I'm sorry about Dean," he apologized. "Sometimes his sense of humor gets the better of him."

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't care what he thinks," he said easily. "I didn't come here to talk to him."

"What do you need?" Sam said, wishing he didn't sound so breathless. He really needed to get past this useless pining over Gabriel, the archangel had made his feelings quite clear.

"You remember I said I needed your help?" Gabriel asked, his face serious. Sam nodded. "Well, maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment, but I thought it might be worth asking again." And all the remaining air in Sam's lungs decided to rush out of him. Spots appeared before his eyes. Gabriel forgave him for being an ass? He got a savage smile in response.

"Not really. But I'm biding my time on making you pay for that. I really do need your help."

"OK," Sam agreed. Idiot, he thought. You don't even know what Gabriel wants. It might have been smart to ask first.

"It seems your brain is smarter than you are," Gabriel noted with a grin. "Too late! You've agreed to help, no strings attached!" Sam made a mock protest but as with the other times Gabriel had shown up lately, he was too elated that Gabriel hadn't completely disappeared from his life. Because if anyone was a glutton for punishment it was him.

"Are you going to tell me what you need my help with?" Sam asked. Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at him, and Sam had to swallow hard at the flirtatious look. If the archangel was going to keep this teasing demeanor up, Sam was in trouble.

"It's a little complicated. Something strange is going on and I seem to be the only one who's noticed," Gabriel said seriously. "Somebody's messing with time." Sam stared at him, a cold feeling in his stomach.

"Lucifer?" he asked tentatively.

Gabriel's face twisted as he considered it. "Possibly," he admitted. "But, if it is my brother, I have no idea what he's up to."

"So, what's changed? Can you tell?" Sam asked. Gabriel ran a hand through his hair and Sam had to push down the memory of doing that himself, the feeling of the soft strands against his fingers.

"Who's the president?" Gabriel asked and Sam blinked in surprise at the unexpected question.

"Uh, Barack Obama," he responded. "For another year, anyway."

"Oh," Gabriel said. "That's not different. I don't really keep track of human politics. I thought…" He shook his head. "Wait, for another year? What happens then?"

"Well, there'll be an election," Sam explained. How did Gabriel not know this?"

"Yes, I know that. I mean, you don't think he'll be re-elected?" The archangel looked confused.

"What? Oh no, he can't run again. Presidents are only allowed to serve two terms in the U.S."

The archangel's eyes widened. "That's it!" he exclaimed. Sam gave him a confused look.

"I don't understand," he confessed. "Are you saying he tried to run for a third term in some other timeline? He can't. I think it's in the Constitution."

"No, this should be his first term. Not his second."

Sam gaped at him. "What? Why would Lucifer change that?"

Gabriel shook his head. "I don't know. It might not even be the intended effect. Changing history is hard, ask Dean if you don't believe me. And you never know what the unintended side effects might be."

Sam considered this for a moment. "So, you're saying Lucifer changed something else, that had the side effect of changing when Obama became president?" The archangel nodded. "OK, what else is different."

"I am," Gabriel confessed. Sam frowned at him. "I think I'm supposed to be dead."

"Supposed to be dead?" Sam asked, his world tilting dizzily. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain. But, it makes no sense that I was thrown into Purgatory when my brother stabbed me. It's never happened before, an angel getting sent to Purgatory after death. We don't have souls or anything like that. When we die, our Grace is meant to return to Heaven. And now that I'm back I can feel the universe… is uncomfortable."

"The universe is uncomfortable," Sam repeated in bewilderment. Gabriel made an impatient gesture. "OK, I'll take your word for it. How come you can tell that history's changed?"

"Angels, especially archangels, are placed more loosely in time than humans," Gabriel told him. "We're not totally decoupled from it, like Death or some creatures are. But we have a little… latitude. And we can feel, in broad strokes, when the universe changes. What I don't understand is why none of my brothers and sisters can feel this."

"Well, since Metatron closed the Gates of Heaven, and the angels all fell, things have been… difficult." Sam suggested. "The angels all lost their wings. There are a few things Cas used to be able to do that he can't do now."

Gabriel looked thoughtful. "That might explain it," he agreed. "But I still don't know who's doing this. Or why."

"I thought we agreed it was Lucifer," Sam objected.

"I don't know, Sam. I'm not saying he wouldn't, or couldn't. But this has a subtlety to it that doesn't feel like Luci. I need to investigate further. For now, I'm gonna help you with Amara. Astrid and Lugh were collecting the Treasures of the Tuatha De," Gabriel told him. "You muttonheads found the Spear of Lugh. There's a stone, a sword and a cauldron as well. Together, they might be able to defeat Amara."

"Was that why Lugh was collecting them?" Sam asked, proud of how even his voice was.

"Who knows what Lugh was up to," Gabriel said sourly. "His motives always were opaque, even by my standards."

"So you want us to collect these other items," Sam said thoughtfully. "Was Astrid telling the truth about the leader of the Wild Hunt and the sword?"

"Yes. And no. Nuada's sword is the one you seek. Bhás an Dorchadas is a different sword altogether. Just like the spear you retrieved was the Spear of Lugh, not the Spear of Diomedes."

"I don't understand," Sam admitted. "We used the spear to kill Ate."

"The Spear of Lugh is a very powerful, very dangerous object. In fact, I'm surprised you and Dean survived contact with it."

"We had help," Sam explained. He told Gabriel an abridged version of the hunt in Pennsylvania. The archangel did not look reassured, in fact he looked a little disturbed.

"You're a freak, Sammy. Too many powerful artifacts behave strangely around you," Gabriel commented. Sam flinched. He was used to that epithet from other hunters, but hearing it from Gabriel's mouth hurt a lot. The archangel didn't seem to notice the pain he'd just inflicted.

"I'm working on finding Nuada, now he's no longer leading the Hunt." Gabriel was saying. "The stone's in Ireland of course but I have no idea where the cauldron is. Those Men of Letters knew a lot. Start digging." He snapped his fingers and vanished.

"Aye, aye, Captain," Sam growled and went off to find Dean.

* * *

Dean's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, he could have sworn he saw something in the backseat. But it was empty. He met his own eyes in the mirror, then flinched away.

 _I need an answer, Dean_ , Tenebrae's voice in his ear sounded like stones being scraped together. _You've had plenty of time to think about it._

"No," Dean said. "There's just too many things that would be different if we went back now and maybe that future is worse than this one."

 _You're not serious_. Tenebrae said incredulously. _Not one but two world-endingly powerful creatures roam the earth, because of you and your moronic brother and things could be worse? How?_

"I don't know how," Dean explained. "That's the problem. I'm only human, I can't tell what tomorrow will bring, let alone rewinding the universe."

 _I see. Well, maybe Sam will be more receptive,_ Tenebrae said but something in his voice made Dean skeptical.

"Sam's no good to you," he said confidently. "I don't know why, but you need me. Which means all this bullshit about Metatron was exactly that, bullshit."

 _Nonsense,_ Tenebrae denied. _This is your last chance._

"Nah," Dean said. "I'm good. I'll take my chances."

"Take your chances with what?" Sam asked curiously as he climbed into the car. "Who are you talking to?"

"Nobody," Dean denied. "Let's go."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

There was someone sitting in front of the Bunker's entrance when Dean pulled the car up. Sam blinked in the glare of the headlights before he recognized her pale blonde hair and slight frame.

"Astrid?" She pulled herself to her feet and gave him a wan smile.

"Sam," she said softly. "How are you?"

"I'm OK," Sam told her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my patron of course," she explained. "I'm trying to rescue him."

"You'd better come in," Dean muttered and gestured to her. "This way."  
In the kitchen, Astrid perched on the edge of a chair, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Sam exchanged a look with Dean and then sat opposite her, holding her gaze with his eyes.

"You're trying to free Lugh from the Wild Hunt?" he asked hesitantly. Astrid nodded.

"Yes. Don't worry, Sam. I'm not here to hurt you or Dean." There was a familiar clicking sound as Dean cocked his gun.

"Good." the hunter said gruffly. "I'd hate to have to use this on you." Sam shot an exasperated look at his brother.

"Dean!" He turned back to Astrid. "Ignore him, he's being an ass." She smiled serenely.

"It's all part of the game," she said. "Lugh was mad at being sold to the Hunt. But honestly, he's more mad at himself for letting Loki get the better of him. Again. This ongoing contest between them has been going on for centuries, it's quite tiresome really. Not least of which because my lord is so clearly outmatched but he can't accept it. But we really do need him free of the Hunt's clutches."

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Why would we care what happens to him?" Astrid raised one eyebrow at him and then returned her attention to Sam. She placed her mug down and wrapped her hands around his.

"My lord Lugh is the only one who can help find the remaining Treasures of the Tuatha De. Loki may think he can do it on his own, but he can't. These objects are sentient, they'd never submit to an alien power."

"Alien?" Sam asked. She nodded.

"They're objects of the Tuatha De, so they only respond properly to one of that race. In the hands of humans they can be quite dangerous, as you saw with the spear."

"That you lied about, by the way," Dean interjected. She gave him an indulgent smile.

"It was necessary."

"And you don't think Loki," Sam choked slightly on the name. "Uh, you don't think Loki can handle them either."

"Not really. I mean, he's a pagan god, sure. More powerful than my lord Lugh, much as it pains me to admit it. But strong enough to control the Treasures? I doubt it."

"He's one of the most powerful creatures in Creation," Sam objected. Astrid laughed at him.

"Oh you do have it bad! Please. He's a minor deity, hardly on the same level as Odin or Kali." Sam closed his mouth with a click. It seemed Astrid had no idea who Loki really was. He looked up at Dean, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"OK, well. Anyway. So, what do you want from us?" Sam said, hastily changing the subject. Astrid looked amused.

"Not much. Just keep me informed for now. When you catch up with Nuada, I'll be ready. Just tip me off before you meet with him." She stood up and patted Sam's cheek. "Thank you, Sam." Dean uncocked his weapon and tucked it back in his jeans. "I'll show you out," he told her. She twinkled at him.

"Sure thing."

* * *

Dean leaned against the trunk of the Impala, one eye on the gas pump. He wouldn't admit as much to Sam, but his latest brush with death had left him wrung out and exhausted. He was tired, tired of the life, tired of the fighting and most of all, tired of never catching an even break. Maybe he needed a vacation. He just wanted some peace.

"You know, there's another way you can find peace, Dean," Amara said and he whirled around to see her walking around the car, idly trailing one hand along the fender.

"I told you," he said awkwardly. "I don't want…"

"You don't want peace? I never took you for a liar."

"Oh, believe me, I lie all the time," Dean said. "Mostly to Sam."

"But not to me," Amara said in satisfaction. "You can't lie to me, Dean."

"Look, what do you want?"

"The rings," she admitted. "We had an agreement."

"OK," Dean said. "I'm not backing out. But I don't carry them around in my pocket."

"Where are they?" Amara asked, her eyes intent.

"I buried them in Bobby's yard. They should still be there." Dean told her. "We'll drive up there now and meet you there."

"No need," Amara said and laid one hand on his arm. He blinked and saw they were outside the tumble-down remains of Bobby's house.

"Dammit," Dean swore. "You can't just zip me off like that!"

"I can't?" Amara said, sounding confused. "Why not?"

"Because I get a say!" Dean snapped. "You have no right to do this to me."

"I have every right!" Amara said, her eyes bright and vicious. "We're linked you and I. I told you. Why do you fight this so hard?"

"Because I have to," Dean said miserably. "Because otherwise I'll lose myself."

"Nonsense," Amara said although she didn't sound certain. "Now where are these rings?"

"Wait a second," Dean objected. "You said you had a way to save Cas. This is an exchange, remember."  
"I remember," Amara replied. "I can expel Lucifer for you. Just bring him to me."

"How do I know you'll keep that promise?" Dean asked. "You're asking me to take your word for it."

Amara considered him for a moment. "Retrieve the rings," she instructed. "Hold on to them for now. When you have Lucifer for me, I'll come and expel him and you will give me the rings then."

"Fine," Dean said. She vanished and he swore. Fucking Hell.

Sam came out of the restroom and headed back to the car. He looked around in surprise, where the Hell had Dean gone? The gas tank was full, so he replaced the nozzle on the pump and climbed into the driver's seat where Dean had carelessly left the keys in the ignition. He frowned at that and pulled the car away from the pump and swung it around to park in front of the restrooms. Maybe Dean had gone in and Sam had missed him somehow. He rapped his fingers on the steering wheel and waited.

The sound of his phone ringing disturbed his reverie. He looked down at the screen. Dean?

"Hey," he said, baffled. "Uh, where are you?"

"South Dakota," Dean grumbled.

"What?"

"Amara brought me here," Dean said. "And now she's dumped my ass here and disappeared."

"Why South Dakota," Sam asked. "Oh, you're at Bobby's."

"Yeah. She wants those rings, Sam. Bad. I was hoping I could get one of these old junkers to start but no such luck."

"OK," Sam said. "I'm leaving now. It's gonna be a few hours before I get to you."

"No problem," Dean said. "I'll keep working on this Chevelle, if I get it working I'll give you a call."

* * *

When Sam finally pulled up in front of Bobby's old junkyard, a wave of grief passed over him. It had been years since this place had been destroyed. And then they'd lost Bobby too. Sam had grieved Bobby's death even more than his dad's, although he'd never admit that to Dean.

"Sam?" Dean's voice floated over the gate.

"Yeah," Sam croaked. He coughed and tried again. "It's me." The gate opened and Dean came out, his face a little pale. "You OK?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Just…. Memories, you know."

"Yeah."

Dean stared at the gate in silence for a moment.

"Dean?"

"OK. Let's go." Sam scooted over to the passenger side to let Dean climb into the driver's seat.

"Did you dig up the rings?" Sam asked curiously.

"What did you think I was doing?" Dean replied. He patted his pocket, then eased the gear lever into drive and smoothly pulled away.

"And we're just gonna hand them over to Amara?"

"After she kicks Lucifer out of Cas," Dean said firmly. Sam eyed him carefully for a moment. "You don't trust her."

"Well, no," Sam admitted. "Why should I?"

"OK," Dean said. "Look, I know you don't get this, but I don't think she's trying to double cross us."

"No," Sam said acidly. "Why would she? She's winning." Dean cast him an anguished glance and he cursed himself under his breath.

"I'm not saying she's going to win, just that from her perspective she holds all the cards," he said lamely.

Dean snorted. "She does hold all the cards. But if we can get Cas back…" He broke off, focusing on the road ahead.

"We'll figure it out," Sam agreed.

* * *

Sam winced as he removed the dressing from his gunshot wound. It was much improved but he still needed to change the dressing everyday, or else he'd run the risk of an infection. If only Cas was here to angel-mojo the thing away. _Or Gabriel,_ his treacherous mind supplied. Sam gritted his teeth. He wouldn't think about Gabriel. He wouldn't.

He cleaned the skin around his stitches carefully, trying not to flinch. _Fucking werewolves_. He put a clean sterile bandage on the scar and taped it firmly in place, then moved slowly and painfully out of the bathroom. He looked around for Dean and was grateful his brother wasn't around. He'd kept a brave face on when his brother could see him, not wanting him to know how much pain he was in.

"I swear, you Winchesters," a voice drawled behind him. "Is it some kind of macho thing? 'Cos I just don't get it." Gabriel. Awesome.

"What do you want, Gabriel," Sam said tightly, turning around. "I'm not in the mood for joking around."

"Evidently," Gabriel said lightly. He stepping into Sam's personal space and touched his hand to Sam's stomach. Sam flinched away.

"Don't touch me," he ground out. Gabriel wagged a finger at him.

"Now, Sam. Just hold still and let me heal you."

"No," Sam said defiantly. "I'm fine. Thank you." Gabriel arched a brow at him and Sam felt his willpower begin to crumble.

"Come on, Sam. Where's the fun in hobbling about the Bunker like an old man?" Gabriel teased. Sam snarled at him.

"I mean it. I don't want your help. I'll heal on my own." Gabriel's face went hard and he crowded Sam against the wall.

"Why are you resisting me?" he demanded. "Why won't you let me help?"

"Because I don't want anything from you. I don't want to owe anything to you. Why is that so hard to understand?" Sam closed his eyes to hold in the tears.

"Sam," Gabriel sighed, brushing his fingers against Sam's forehead. "Please let me do this. It's a freebie, I swear. I just can't see you in pain like this." Sam shook his head stubbornly.

"No. I appreciate the offer, but no." He felt Gabriel's Grace anyway, filling him with warmth and golden light and he tried to resist but it was futile. The archangel had gotten his way regardless.

"Now, isn't that better?" Gabriel said. His voice was still light and teasing but it sounded forced. Sam couldn't hold back his tears any longer and they ran down his cheeks freely. Gabriel gently brushed them away. "Sammy, come on." Sam opened his eyes.

"Why did you have to do that? I said no." Gabriel shrugged in pretended indifference.

"Like I said, it makes no sense to be in pain if you don't have to be. I was here, and I could help." He folded his arms over his chest. "You're welcome, by the way." Sam sniffled and turned his face away.

"Thanks," he said curtly. "Was there anything else you wanted from me?"

"It wasn't the most effusive outpouring of gratitude I've ever heard," Gabriel noted sourly. Sam turned on him savagely.

"I said no. You ignored me, overrode my bodily autonomy, my choice. Be glad I thanked you at all." Gabriel rocked back on his heels, nakedly astonished.

"Sam, I-" he stuttered. "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean to what? Treat me like a favored pet? Bend me to your will, regardless of my wishes? I'm not your plaything, Gabriel." He shoved away from the wall and turning his back on the archangel, walking away. Gabriel watched him go.

"You're hopeless," Dean commented behind him. Gabriel whirled around in a fury. The hunter was leaning against the wall, relaxed but alert. His arms were folded across his chest.

"He's being unreasonable!" he yelled.

Dean laughed at him. "How is he being unreasonable? What do you want from him anyway?" There was a hard edge to his voice, under the amusement.

"I wanted to heal him. So he wouldn't be in pain! Why wouldn't he want that?" Gabriel demanded. Dean gave a lop-sided shrug.

"Doesn't matter. His body is his own, and he gets to choose what happens to it. You had no right to overrule him." Gabriel threw up his hands in despair.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering!" he exclaimed dramatically.

"Well, that's a good question, isn't it?" Dean said sharply. Gabriel blinked. "Why are you doing this? You've made your feelings about Sam completely clear and Sam has not asked you for anything. So tell me, why are you popping in and out of Sam's life, completely unasked?" Gabriel was speechless. Dean wished he'd recorded this moment on his phone. He leveled a look at the angel. "Stop messing him around and let him move on. You don't want him, fine. He's a big boy, he'll get over it. But you have to leave him alone." Gabriel's face was mulish and sulky.

"I don't want to," he said childishly. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Dean.

"You have to," Dean said firmly. "Or else you'll destroy him. And I can't let that happen."

"Destroy him," Gabriel said derisively. "Give me a break."

"I'm serious. You have a lot of power over Sam, and he knows it. Hates himself for it. And you keep yanking that chain." Dean's mouth curled downwards. "So, I'm asking you, please. Please, leave Sam alone." Gabriel stared at him for such a long time, Dean began to wonder if he'd broken the archangel.

"I can't," Gabriel admitted in a low tone. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. But I just can't."

Dean shook his head. If this was anyone else, he'd be tempted to believe the archangel was being honest. But it was Gabriel, so... "Really," Dean said sarcastically. "What is it you want from Sam?"

"Want?" The archangel sounded startled. "I don't want anything from him." Dean raised his eyebrows. "When did you get so perceptive?" Gabriel complained.

"He's my brother," Dean said by way of explanation. Gabriel's shoulders sagged.

"I don't know," he said softly. "But I just can't seem to stay away. You said I should let him move on. But I can't. I don't know why, but the thought of him with anyone else makes me insane."

"But you don't love him," Dean said simply.

"No. No! I just can't… let him go." Gabriel looked unhappy. "You're right. Sam deserves better than this. I'll just have to try harder."

"You do that," Dean said. "Or I'll find a way to end you. Your choice."

* * *

As Sam lit the ring of holy oil they'd laid down, Lucifer was smiling at Dean, that cruel, mocking, knowing smile that Sam was all too familiar with.

"Mmm, Dean," Lucifer smirked. "How delicious to see you again." He quirked an eyebrow at Sam. "Want to know how you measure up to your big brother, Sammy?" Dean's head whipped around to stare at Sam in horror.

"My, my," Crowley said, his voice deepening in amusement, but there was an edge there too. "I wonder what poor stupid Castiel thinks of all this."

"Shut up, Crowley," Dean growled.

"Crowley," Lucifer reproached. "Do try not to be catty. It's undignified." He blatantly eyed Dean up and down and grinned. "I'm sorry. Your prayer implied that I'd be... joining the team, but I'm just not feeling the warm and fuzzy here." Dean and Sam exchanged another glance as Lucifer's gaze fell on the Horn. "Wow. There it is. Powered up by Dad himself. Well, that bad boy plus me... That ought to take her out all right." He clapped and rubbed his hands together in glee. "Let's get to it. Douse the flames." An impatient fingersnap. "Or don't?" They needed to work fast. Dean pulled a blade from his belt and cut his hand, and pressing it against the spell they'd etched on the wall earlier. Lucifer's body began to shake and quiver as the force of the spell hit him.

"Cas!" Dean yelled. "Castiel, show yourself!" Lucifer's head dipped and when he looked up again, Dean knew that it was his friend looking out at him once more. Cas looked weary and puzzled.

"Dean?" the angel asked gruffly.

"Cas," Dean said, his insides a turmoil of relief and regret.

"What are you doing?" Cas gritted out. "What's... What's going on?"

"Cas, listen to me, " Dean said urgently. "We don't have a whole lot of time, okay? You have got to…" But he was too late. Cas's body had already begun shivering and shaking again. "Cas!" But Cas no longer seemed able to respond. "Castiel, show yourself!" The laugh that poured out of the vessel was not Cas's, it was Lucifer's.

"Oh-hoo-hoo-hoo!", Lucifer chortled. "Whoo! Uh, he's got to what? You boys…", he broke off, laughing again. "Ooh, you almost had me there for a minute, but these mail-order spells... they're just not what they're cracked up to be, are they?"

"Cas, expel him! You got to kick Lucifer out! Do you hear me?!" Dean screamed, pain tearing at his throat.

"Honestly, I think he's happy with the arrangement." Lucifer said nonchalantly. "I mean, he did invite me in and all, Dean." He gave Dean a lascivious look.

"Cas!" Dean cried, a sound so broken it brought tears to Sam's eyes. He glared at Lucifer.

"Cas!" Lucifer mocked. Dean stared at Lucifer, frustration and anger reddening his eyes and clenching his fists. Lucifer flashed him another smile and then his face hardened.

"Hand over the weapon. What do you say? Or we can just wait for this warding to fail and I'll take it." He glanced around him and Sam realized to his horror that the warding runes were already beginning to dim.

"Bloody hell," Crowley swore behind him and there was a strange sound. Sam turned to see

Crowley smoking out of his meat-suit and entering Lucifer. Dean and Rowena look astonished and Sam was sure his own face was similarly bemused. What the Hell was Crowley up to? Several minutes passed and nothing seemed to be happening, other than a few twitches of Cas's vessel.

"You know, he's been gone a long time. I mean, what do you think is going on?" Sam said nervously. Dean gave a lop-sided shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe Cas isn't willing to play ball. I mean, you said it yourself... he wanted this." Dean sounded heartbroken, Sam thought.

"Can't you people do anything right?!" Rowena snapped, looking far more concerned than Sam expected of her. "Whilst all this dithering goes on, we're losing time! Look... the warding's almost completely failed." She pointed up to the fading symbols that Sam had already noticed.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said almost like a prayer.

"Fine," Sam growled and grabbed a cross, holding it up to Lucifer. He began to recite the exorcism rite from memory. After a moment's hesitation, Dean grabbed a flask of holy water from his duffel bag and began tossing holy water onto to Lucifer. Sam continued the chant, never hesitating. Suddenly, red smoke began pouring from Lucifer and back into Crowley's own meat-suit. His eyes opened, flashing red and he was gasping.

"Crowley," Sam prompted. Crowley shook his head, looking frustrated.

"Useless," he panted. "Lucifer's hold on him is too strong." At that moment Rowena screamed.

"Lads, the fire!" The holy oil fire was dying and there was nothing any of them could do. Lucifer's face was cold.

"Ah. Trick me? You lied to me. You know, I could have been your warrior." He gave a chilly smile. "Who needs ya? Well. It's just like Crowley to leave right when the party's getting started. Have a seat." He gave an idle flick of his hand and Sam was forced down into a chair. He turned his head to see Dean had also been shoved into a seat. "As much as I get a giggle out of you two, and I do," he paused to wink at Sam. "There comes a time when every relationship has... run its course. So…" he closed his fist and Sam could feel his throat begin to close. He could hear Dean making choking sounds and there was a strange wheezing that he realized was coming from him. Oh fuck.

His vision began to darken when suddenly the pressure was released and there was an odd soundless explosion. A gaping hole appeared where in one of the walls of the church and Sam squinted to see Amara gracefully pick her way through the rubble.

"Oh, Lucifer. Dear nephew, my, how you've changed." Amara said. Lucifer grinned at her. She waved a hand at Rowena. "I was tracking her when she left my side."

"You were safely sealed away. You're gonna wish you'd stayed there," Lucifer told her gleefully, holding up the Horn of Joshua. Sam gasped as it began to glow red and Lucifer's eyes turned white. He turned away and shouted to Dean to do the same. If they watched this, he was afraid it would burn out their eyes. There was a blinding white light that seared Sam's retinas even through closed lids, and a popping sound in Sam's ears. Was Dean crying out? He wasn't sure. But as the glow began to fade and he blinked open his eyes, he could see Amara, still standing and utterly unharmed. As she lifted her hand and gestured, she pulled Lucifer effortlessly towards her. The Horn of Joshua fell from his nerveless fingers with a clatter. Amara cupped her hand on Lucifer's face.

"I think you and I need to have a nice, long chat." Amara said ominously.

"Cas?" Dean yelled and Amara turned to look at him. She made a gesture and Lucifer collapsed to the floor and then she stalked over to Dean. Sam watched in horror as Amara slipped a hand into Dean's jacket and pulled out the Horsemen's rings.

"You promised," Dean said thinly.

"Indeed I did," Amara said. "I'll release your friend. But for now I need my nephew. Once I'm done with him, I'll pull him out. Don't worry, Dean. Everything will be fine." She walked back over to Lucifer and hauled him to his feet and raised her hand. Sam realized that she had broken Lucifer's hold over them and he could move again. There was another blinding flash of light, that seemed to wrap around Amara and Lucifer in a sinuous dance and then they were gone. Sam looked at Dean in a combination of relief, disbelief and horror.

"Where's Rowena?" he asked after a moment. Dean shook his head.

"She must have escaped in the confusion." He looked at Crowley, who gave him a curious look that was almost pained. "You OK?"

"I'm dandy," the demon said sarcastically. "I mean, after this clusterfuck, who wouldn't be?"

"Yeah," Dean said morosely. "That's the word." Crowley rolled his shoulders and then scratched at his beard.

"I'll have to go round up mother again," Crowley announced. "So, toodle pip and all that." And with that parting shot he was gone.

"So what do we do now?" Sam asked and Dean gave him a murderous look.

"We keep going," he said firmly. "We save Cas. That's it."

"No, no. I didn't mean to suggest we wouldn't," Sam denied. "I just meant, well… how? What's the plan? The Hand of God didn't hurt Amara at all."

"Gabriel said the treasures of the Tuatha De could defeat the Darkness, right?" Dean said. "So, we go look for them."

"Dean, I don't want to-" Sam started and Dean cut him off.

"It's OK, Sammy. You don't have to deal with Gabriel if you don't want to. I'll talk to him. Or we'll help Astrid bring Lugh back." Sam leveled a look at his brother. "Look it's not my fault we keep tripping over your fuck buddies." Sam folded his arms and turned away. "All right. I'm sorry. Forget Lugh and Gabriel. We've found all kinds of crazy magical objects. We can find these treasures too."

* * *

Sam squinted at the letters on the page that seemed to dance in front of his eyes. Cas had been reading this book before Sam had made his ill-fated trip to Hell and Sam wondered if he'd found anything in it that could help them. It was an account of a priest who met a Knight Templar near Paris in 1315. Or rather, he met a knight whom he believed was a Templar. The knight had appeared at his church late at night, cold and hungry. The priest, Jean-Claude Leroy, recounted how the knight had been evasive about his mission and very nervous, as though someone was following him. Finally, after a hot meal, the knight had left a package in Father Leroy's care before leaving for Paris the next morning. Father Leroy had been curious and the mysterious knight had not forbidden him from opening the parcel and so he had looked inside. He described a strange stone tablet with unreadable runes carved on it and a knife with an obsidian blade. Sam frowned at the book, an obsidian blade would be sharp but fragile. It didn't sound very practical. Perhaps it was a ritual knife? The book was written in a dialect of Old French and Cas would have been able to read the language directly, so he probably hadn't cared how good the translation printed alongside was. Sam only knew a handful of words in modern French and apparently the language had changed a lot. But there was a note in Cas's handwriting in the margin. _Stele?_

He pulled his laptop towards him and began to search for an expert who might be willing to look at the translation for him. As he browsed, his email program signalled the arrival of a new message. The email was not from anyone he knew but the subject was 'URGENT!'. He chewed his lip for a moment and then opened it.

 _Dear Mr Winchester,_

 _I apologize for writing to you out of the blue, but your name was given to me by a mutual friend and he tells me that you are the only one who can help me. My name is Martina Black and I am a journalist from Odessa, TX. I've been writing a small local interest piece on a historical artifact that has been in Odessa for over one hundred years._

 _This artifact, the Odessa Witch Cauldron, was supposedly owned by a local witch, Mahalia Howe. She used to help the local cattle ranchers with sick animals and was reputedly part Comanche. I can't find a birth certificate or any documentation about her at all until about ten years before she died. But this was the late 1890's and this was not unusual. All I know for sure about her is that her father, Mulholland Howe, was a prominent businessman from New York who moved to Texas in 1879, and married a local woman who bore him three children. Mahalia was the oldest._

 _There's not much to the story other than that. And so I was writing about the recent museum renovation and the Cauldron exhibit, but it was a little flat because we know so little about it. But then the curator told me that there was a curse attached to the Cauldron. She claimed that eating food cooked in the Cauldron would satisfy a person so well, they would achieve a kind of physical perfection. All diseases cured, body weight stabilised at a healthy weight, strength, agility etc. Well, of course I was intrigued. How was this a curse? She explained that the curse part was that once one had eaten of the Cauldron, you could never eat normal food again._

 _I didn't understand what this meant. She dared me to eat some soup she had heated in the Cauldron and I, foolishly, accepted. At first it was amazing. I lost a lot of weight, my fitness level has never been higher and my asthma disappeared entirely. But I soon realized that the price I was paying was very, very high. The curse makes you crave human flesh. I have become a monster. So far, I've contained my hunger by stealing corpses from the local morgue. But it's not enough and I'm becoming desperate._

 _Just by chance, I ran into a guy who used to work as a janitor at my old college and he said that you might be able to help me. He said you were some kind of expert in curses and other such things._

 _Please help me. I don't know how long I can hold out before I kill someone._

 _Martina_

A line appeared between Sam's eyebrows as he read Martina's letter. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the janitor was. He grunted, hating the feeling of being led around by the nose. He tapped out a quick reply and then rose to go find Dean.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

When everything else was going to Hell, Dean worked on his car. Sam found him in the garage, Baby's carburetor in pieces on the floor. He raised an eyebrow at his brother and Dean flashed him a quick grin.

"I'm giving her a tune-up," he said.

"How quickly can you put it back together?" Sam asked and Dean frowned.

"An hour?"

Sam told him about the email he'd received and Dean stopped tinkering and looked Sam directly in the eyes.

"You think this is the cauldron we're looking for?"

"It's gotta be, right? I mean, Gabriel's fingerprints are all over this."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Are you going to be OK?" he asked perceptively and Sam cursed him under his breath. Normally Dean was about as sensitive as a brick. Why did he have to have a sudden attack of intuition now?

"Yeah," Sam told him. "It's fine."

"OK. Let me finish up here and we'll hit the road." Dean turned his attention back to his carburetor.

"Since we're in a caring, sharing mood, how are you holding up?" Sam asked him. Dean grunted.

"I'm…" he broke off and looked up. "I'm going nuts, OK? Amara's got Cas and God knows what she's doing to him. Or maybe Lucifer will start playing for her team? What the Hell do we do then?"

"You're borrowing trouble," Sam observed. "If that happens, we'll figure it out then. For now, the best thing we can do is find a weapon that will work against her."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right," Dean admitted. "But I hate feeling like nothing we do matters. I mean, we spent a lot of time chasing down the Hands of God. And to what end? Lucifer hit Amara with all the juice in the Horn of Joshua and it barely blew back her hair!"

"I know," Sam agreed. "And there's no guarantee that the Treasures of the Tuatha De will be any more effective. So if you have a better plan, I'm all ears." Dean's shoulders slumped.

"No," he sighed. "That's kind of the problem. We're spinning our wheels and we're gonna keep doing it because the alternative is to give up. And dammit, I am not giving up." Sam smiled at him.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "We're not giving up. So we chase after this thing and we keep fighting." A slow smile spread across Dean's face.

"Damn right."

* * *

Odessa was very hot and very dry. And after three hours waiting in the museum parking lot for Ms Black to show up at their arranged meeting, Dean was becoming increasingly cranky.

"She's not gonna show," he blurted out. "She's probably ripping the head of some poor slob as we speak."

"OK, so let's go check out her apartment," Sam suggested. Dean looked around.

"And what if she shows up while we're gone?" Sam stared at him in surprise.

"OK, well why don't I stay here and you go? If she shows up here, I'll call."

Dean scratched at his stubble for a moment and then nodded. "OK. That's a good idea." He nodded towards the convenience store across the street. "You need a cold drink or anything before I go?" Sam shook his head.

"I'm fine. Call me when you get there." He watched his brother amble off and his mouth twisted. Dean was hot and uncomfortable but even taking that into account, he seemed off. Maybe he was seeing things that weren't there, but his brother's confession about how Amara affected him was never far from his mind these days.

* * *

Nobody answered when Dean knocked at the door and after a few minutes of listening for any sounds inside and trying the door, he decided he was going to have to break in. Unlocking Ms Black's apartment was child's play. Inside, the apartment was light and spacious but it was filled with heavy, antique furniture that didn't seem to match other more modern pieces. The EMP meter in his hand was silent.

"Hello?" he called out. "Ms. Black?" There was nothing. He made his way into the bedroom, which was neat and tidy and quiet. He kept searching, but the apartment was empty. He was about to leave when a note pinned to the fridge caught his attention. It was a folded piece of paper and on the front it said "A".

He lifted the magnet that held it to the fridge door and unfolded the note.

 _A,_

 _If you're reading this, you've won. I tried, I tried so hard to resist doing what you wanted. I hate you for what you've done to me. The Winchesters are coming, just as you wanted. I hope one of them kills me, before I kill someone innocent. Then I hope they kill you._

 _MB_

Dean tucked the note into his pocket. It wasn't very helpful. Who was A? Amara? Astrid? Someone else? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Sam. It went straight to voicemail, meaning Sam was either talking on the phone or had switched his cell off. He frowned and left a terse message.

He took one last look around the apartment and then left. He didn't notice the shadows that shifted around him as he went.

* * *

Sam was bored and hot and uncomfortable. The sun was getting higher and the Impala was rapidly turning into an oven. Martina Black wasn't coming. He should have gone with Dean to her apartment. A thump on the passenger side door startled him and he jumped. Gabriel leaned in the open window, a broad grin on his face.

"Hey, Sammy," Gabriel drawled. "Hot day to be hanging around here."

"I was supposed to be meeting Martina Black. You know, the journalist who used the Cauldron."

"Ah, yes. So she did contact you? Good. I wasn't sure that she would. She was pretty far gone already when I met her."

"Were you really a janitor at her school?" Sam asked curiously.

"What? No!" Gabriel scoffed. "I just put that memory in her mind, to make her less suspicious of me." Sam sighed.

"You have to stop doing stuff like that, Gabriel," he told the archangel. Gabriel's lip poked out mulishly and Sam had to turn his head away.

"Why?" Gabriel sulked.

"Because it's wrong, that's why," Sam ground out. "You can't just go around manipulating people like that."

"Why not?" Gabriel shot back. "I was trying to help."

"Because you just can't," Sam said, exasperated. "It's like… free will. You know, people have to make their own choices." Gabriel subsided and opened the car door. Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Wanna go make some bad decisions right now?" the archangel asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. Sam turned resolutely away.

"No, Gabriel," he said firmly. "Please, don't do this."

"You're no fun," Gabriel grumbled and threw himself into the passenger seat. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, relenting a little.

"To find the unfortunate Ms Black," Gabriel told him. "Before she makes an irredeemable mistake."

"What about Dean?" Sam objected. "He's at her apartment."  
"Let's leave Dean-o out of this," Gabriel said seriously. Sam blinked at the sudden change in the archangel's mood.

"OK," Sam said carefully. "Any reason why?" Gabriel eyed him warily.

"Dean's a little too trigger-happy for my tastes in situations like these," he said finally. "Sorry, Sam, I'd really like to save Martina if I can."

"Fair enough," Sam said. Gabriel was right, although Dean had mellowed over the years, he was still very much a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy. "So where are we going?" Gabriel gave him a look that was a strange mix of grateful and sultry that made Sam shiver.

"Turn right out of the lot, and follow this road," he instructed. "We're looking for a library."

* * *

In the museum parking lot, there was no sign of the Impala. _Dammit, Sammy. Where the Hell did you go?_ Dean looked vainly around but the lot was not large and there were only a few cars there. He spotted a man smoking a cigarette and leaning against a late model Ford pickup and strolled over to him.

"Hey," he said easily. "I was supposed to meet my brother here, tall kid, long hair, driving a black 1967 Chevy Impala."

The man, a short, heavy-set man with sun-weathered skin and a permanent squint, took his cigarette out of his mouth and spat on the ground.

"Yeah, I seen him," he said. "Sat in the lot for a while. Then some other guy came over, short cocky little fucker. They spoke for a spell, then short and cocky got in the car and they drove away." Dean felt relief flow over him.

"When was this?" he pressed.

"'Bout fifteen minutes ago, I reckon." The man tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it.

"OK, thanks," Dean said and started to walk away.

"There was a chick here too," the man said. Dean swiveled around so fast his neck clicked.

"What?"

"Yeah, blonde chick. Watched yer brother and his friend. From over there." He pointed over to a tree in front of the museum. "Weird, if you ask me." Dean nodded at him and changed direction to go check out the tree.

He should have been more surprised to find Astrid there, he figured. She smiled warmly at him, but he gave her a stern look.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"Research," she said brightly. "I was on the trail of the Dagda's Cauldron."

"Research?" Dean asked her. "What does that mean exactly?"

"I needed to know if the Cauldron here was the one we were searching for. So I came to check it out."

"And?"

"And what?" she twinkled. "Is it real? Oh yes. It's the real deal."

"So why are you skulking back here," he challenged. Her face became rather pinched.

"Loki's here. With your brother," she said acidly.

Dean shrugged at her. "So what?" She peered at him.

"It doesn't bother you, that Loki's toying with Sam?"

Dean's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Of course it does. But there's not much I can do about it. Sam's an adult. If G- uh Loki is making Sam uncomfortable, I'll gank the son-of-a-bitch. But if Sam went off with him of his own free will, what am I supposed to do?" He rubbed a hand over his face. God damn, he was tired. "Where are you on freeing Lugh from the Hunt?"

Now it was Astrid's turn to look unhappy. "It is proving more difficult than I had hoped," she confessed in a low voice. "Loki was smart when he trapped my lord as the leader of the Hunt. I have to find a suitable replacement leader, and that's not easy. But the alternative is to try and destroy the Hunt altogether and that's almost impossible. I'd need something Hell-touched to do that."

"I might be able to help you with that," Dean told her. "I have a… let's call him a friend. A well-connected friend. He might be able to give you what you need, for the right price."

"This friend wouldn't happen to be a demon, would he?" Astrid asked shrewdly. Dean grinned at her and she sighed. "I don't have a soul to sell."

"He can be flexible," Dean said. "But I have my own deal to make with you first. Lugh has to stay away from Sam. I need a guarantee." Astrid pursed her lips.

"I can't make a deal on behalf of my lord," she objected. Dean gave a slight shrug.

"Then I can't help you." Astrid stamped her foot like an angry child and it surprised a laugh out of the hunter. "Them's the breaks, sweetheart."

"Fine," she snarled. "I swear, Lord Lugh will leave Sam Winchester alone."

"Not good enough," Dean replied. "I need something I can actually hold him too. A spell or something." Astrid narrowed her eyes at him.

"It's all an act, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"The big, dumb hunter schtick. You're smart, but you don't like people to know it."

Dean made a careless gesture. "I hustle pool for money. Running a good con means making the mark feel smarter than you are." Astrid bared her teeth at him.

"Are you calling me a mark?" she hissed. Dean shook his head.

"No. In this scenario, I'm the mark. You're the hustler." Astrid threw back her head and laughed joyously.

"Oh, I've missed you," she declared. "You got me. We'll sign a covenant, reinforce it with a geas. It's unbreakable."

"How can Lugh sign something if he's not here?" She winked at him.

"I have my ways. I'll be in touch." She sauntered off and Dean wondered if she'd still managed to con him.

* * *

The library was closed, much to Sam's surprise. The sign in the window indicated that it should have opened at 10am, but it was now after 11 and there was no sign of anyone inside. Sam tapped hesitantly on the glass. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"So why do you think she came here," Sam asked him.

"She didn't, exactly," Gabriel said airily. "I brought her here. She's under a glamor." He folded his arms across his chest when Sam glared at him. "It was the only way to stop her from attacking someone in the street," he said defensively. "If she feeds it's all over."

"Like a rougarou?" Sam asked. Gabriel nodded, his face pensive.

"Similar," he said tersely. "Basically, the spell can be reversed as long as she doesn't eat living human flesh. Once she does, our only option is to kill her."

"How do we reverse the spell?" Sam asked him. Gabriel looked away, and shifted uncomfortably.

"We need to make a sacrifice," he said in a low voice. Sam gave him a hard look.

"What kind of sacrifice?"

"Well, that's not very clear," Gabriel hedged. "The lore says it should be a balance."

"A balance. Are you telling me we have to kill someone?" Sam gritted his teeth.

"I don't know about that," Gabriel said evasively. "I had hoped we might have a suitable candidate on hand."

"Dammit, Gabriel, what's going on?"

"Astrid's immortality," Gabriel confessed. "Centuries ago, Lugh used the Cauldron to artificially extend her life. If we take that back from her, we can use the power to break the Cauldron's hold over Martina."

"She's not going to give that up willingly," Sam pointed out. "I don't know, Gabriel. Astrid and Lugh screwed with me, no question. But this doesn't feel right."

"Ms Black is an innocent," the archangel said archly. "You can't say that about Astrid."

"You seem awfully invested in this," Sam observed. "Why is that?" Gabriel raked a hand through his hair.

"The Cauldron's dangerous, and this woman has been hurt by it, because of Astrid. She was the one who tricked her into eating from it, without telling her of the consequences. Dick move. And you know how I feel about that kind of thing."

"No." Sam shook his head. "That's a good excuse but there's something else here."

"Well, Astrid is trying to free Lugh from the Wild Hunt," Gabriel offered. "I went to the trouble of trapping him with them, I'd prefer he stay there."

"OK," Sam said. "I'd buy that. But why not say so in the first place?"

A pinkish hue touched Gabriel's cheeks to Sam's astonishment. "It's… petty revenge," the archangel admitted. "I didn't want you to see that side of me."

"I've seen it before," Sam said. Gabriel shook his head in denial.

"Yeah, when I was in full pagan mode. Not… after you knew who I really was. Not many people see the real me, Sam. I wanted to be… better." He shoved savagely at the library doors and stalked away. Sam scurried after him and clasped his shoulder.

"Wait," he said. "Wait up, Gabriel!" The archangel shrugged him off and kept walking. But since he could just snap himself away, Sam knew he was meant to follow. Gabriel slumped against the side of the Impala and Sam reached him again in a few strides. He reached for Gabriel's hand, and the archangel snatched it away.

"We're wasting time," Gabriel snarled at him. Sam reached for his hand again anyway.

"Look, I don't know what's going on here," Sam said uncertainly. "I don't know what's going on in your head. But you're giving me really mixed signals. I don't know where I stand with you." Gabriel wouldn't look at him. "OK, so maybe you don't know where you stand either. Just tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I can handle it."

"Can you?" Gabriel said skeptically. Sam nodded emphatically.

"I swear. Come on, Gabriel. If you don't want me, it's OK, but why keep hanging around? So I figure something else is going on."

"I'll make a deal with you," Gabriel said, sounding breathy and a little desperate. Desperate for what, Sam couldn't say. "Let's free Martina, get rid of Astrid and by extension Lugh, once and for all. I'll help you boys take out Amara. And then we'll talk. OK?"

"No dice, Gabriel," Sam said firmly. The archangel's hand was quivering in his. He stroked his thumb across the sensitive skin between Gabriel's fingers and the archangel closed his eyes for a moment and gave a pleasurable shiver. Then he tugged his hand free of Sam's.

"Then we'll talk once we've freed Martina. How's that for a compromise?" Gabriel said tightly and Sam gave in.

"All right. But no disappearing after the deed is done, OK?" Gabriel gave him an innocent look. Sam wasn't fooled for a second.

"So, how do we get Astrid here?" he asked. Gabriel indicated the door of the library with a nod of his head.

"Here she is," he said. "Right on cue."

"Shit," Sam swore. "Dean's with her." Gabriel pulled a face and then snapped his fingers and disappeared. Sam swore again and then headed over to talk to his brother.

"Dean!" he called out. Astrid beamed at him.

"Sam!" she declared. "It's so good to see you." Uncomfortable with the situation, he gave her a quick fake smile and then returned his attention to Dean.

"Sammy," Dean said, sounding irritated. "You split and you couldn't even text me to tell me where you were? Were you making out with your boyfriend?"

"Shut up," Sam said, flushing. Astrid laughed delightedly.

"I have missed you two," she said. "Is Martina Black in here?"

"Supposedly," Sam admitted. "I've not actually seen her. Uh… Loki's trapped her inside. For her own protection. And you know, everyone else's."

"Sure," Astrid said and flicked a hand lazily at the door. The lock clicked. "But she has the Cauldron. We're going to have to kill her you know." Sam glanced at Dean, who looked unconcerned.

"It's not really her fault," he said diffidently. "I mean, she was obviously tricked into eating food from the Cauldron. She didn't believe in the curse, why would she? So, shouldn't we try and save her first?"

"Sure, Sam," Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you've got a cure for this thing, by all means, try it out." Sam knew he was on shaky ground here, but he'd take what he could get.

"OK, well, don't shoot her. Not until I try this cure first." Dean nodded and Sam eased the door open and crept inside.

Libraries were not usually creepy places, Sam thought. Well, maybe old libraries could be a little spooky, but bright modern structures like this one shouldn't be. But even though the sun was shining brightly outside and there were many large windows, somehow the entire building was shrouded in gloom. Shadows shifted out of the corner of Sam's eye and he was jittery as he turned the corner and was confronted with three doors. Two restrooms and a third door which was unlabeled. After a moment of intent listening, Sam heard a slight sound from the Ladies room and he silently indicated the fact to Dean and Astrid. Dean carefully opened the door and Sam entered first, his gun ready.

A young woman was kneeling on the floor, her head hanging down and she swayed slightly from side to side. Sam approached her carefully and tilted her head up. He recognized Martina Black from her Facebook profile. Her eyes were blank and her mouth was slack.

"What's up with her?" Dean asked. "I was expecting a snarling monster, not some stoner chick."

"Gabriel's got her glamored," Sam reminded him. "It should make this easier."

"Well, where's this Cauldron?" Dean asked.

"It's close," Astrid breathed. "I can feel it."

"Oh, it's close all right," Gabriel's voice came from behind. He grabbed Astrid by the hair and shoved her head toward the small iron pot he held in one hand. She screeched and fought, and Dean stepped back involuntarily as the archangel and Astrid tangled on the floor. Astrid produced a knife from somewhere and plunged it into Gabriel's leg and Gabriel let out a howl.

"What the fuck is that?" he screamed.

Astrid tugged the blade out of him and looked down, her lip curling in contempt. "It won't kill you. Well, not with a leg wound, anyway. But it was the final component I needed." Sam tried to turn but he found he couldn't move. He could hear Dean grunting behind him and suspected his brother was also immobilized.  
"I don't understand," Dean said gruffly.

"Ah, poor, stupid Dean. A few words of flattery about how smart you are, and you're eating out of my hand. You're right, a mark has to feel smarter than the hustler." There was a snarling sound and Sam wished desperately that he could turn around and see what was going on. "I needed three things for my spell to free my lord Lugh. The Cauldron, a human enslaved to it's power and the blood of a pagan god."

"Why a pagan god, specifically?" Dean choked out. Sam tensed.

"Well, this spell is rather fine tuned. Human blood's no good. Not enough power and the spell fizzles. Too much power and it will backfire rather spectacularly." There were more strange sounds but Dean didn't say anything else. Sam tried to open his mouth to speak but his voice was gone. Astrid was chanting behind him and Martina began to convulse on the floor. The fluorescent light began to flicker and there was a strange buzzing sound. Sam's head began to swim.

 _Sam!_ Gabriel's voice was weak in his head. _I can't get us out of here. Whatever that blade was made of has poisoned my Grace. You have to find a way to break Astrid's hold over you._

 _How?_ Sam asked. _I'm completely paralyzed._

 _I don't know. But if you don't stop her, the backlash from this spell will kill you both._

 _And you?_

 _I don't know. I'd probably survive. But that's not important right now!_

Sam concentrated on his body. Was he really completely paralyzed? He started with his toes and moved up his body cataloging whether he could move anything. Nothing. He tried to open his mouth again and to his surprise he was able to croak out a few words.

"Astrid!" he coughed.

"A little busy right now," she sang out.

"Astrid, don't do this," Sam begged. "Please."

"I have to do this, Sam. I'm sure you understand. After all, isn't that why the Darkness is free at all?" Astrid asked.

"That's different," Sam defended.

Astrid made a rude noise. "How is it different?" she challenged. "You took the risk of dooming the entire world, just to save your brother. I'm risking far less, for someone far more worthy." Sam closed his mouth with a click. She was totally wrong. But damn it, he couldn't let her win this round.

"Astrid," Sam forced out as he struggled against her control. "You're right. I shouldn't have done it. I know I made a mistake. But I'm trying to make it right. I can't do that if you kill me." He felt her hold on him lessen and he was able to turn his head to look at her.

"Kill you?" she barked in surprise. "I'm not going to kill you. My lord Lugh would be most displeased."

"If you use this spell, you'll kill us both. Maybe yourself too," Sam told her.

"Nonsense," she declared. "I've calibrated the power levels perfectly. The only way this could backfire is if Loki is much more powerful... " she trailed off.

 _Awesome job, Sam._ Gabriel's voice echoed sarcastically in his head. _You've blown my cover._

"Is he right?" Astrid challenged.

"Yes," Gabriel admitted. "I'm not really a minor pagan deity. I'm an archangel." Astrid gasped and the knife tumbled to the floor with a heavy clang that seemed incongruous with its size.

"You're Michael, aren't you?" Sam could feel Gabriel's glee at being misidentified.

"Guilty," he said. "Got out of the Cage when Lucifer got sprung."

"You're not how I imagined," Astrid confessed. "I thought Michael would be… stiffer."

"It's been a hard few years," Gabriel said dismissively. Sam realized that he could move again. Astrid's astonishment had clearly broken her concentration.

 _Tell me what I have to do, Gabriel. I hate this, but I don't see another way._ Gabriel flooded his mind with a series of images. Sam sprang to his feet and grabbed Astrid by the hair. She bucked and fought under his hands but he was quick and strong and before she could re-establish control over him, he shoved her head first into the Cauldron and spoke the words of activation that Gabriel had implanted into his head. Astrid screamed, a long heart-rending cry that tore at Sam's soul. But he gritted his teeth and held her head in the Cauldron until she was completely still. When he stepped back and let her body fall, she was impossibly aged, old and wizened.

Sam turned away and limped over to Martina Black. She was curled into a fetal position and sobbing.

"Hey," he said gently. "You're OK, it's OK." He helped her to her feet and began to guide her out of the restroom. Dean was scrambling to his feet but Gabriel was still lying prone on the floor. Sam handed Martina over to Dean and then fell to his knees next to Gabriel.

"Gabriel," he said, laying one hand on the archangel's shoulder. "Can you stand? It's over." He was shivering and making a pathetic mewling sound and Sam frowned in consternation.

"Sammy…" Gabriel muttered. Sam shifted position and picked the archangel up. Gabriel's arms draped over his shoulders and his face nuzzled into Sam's neck. Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat and strode off in the direction of the door.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Dean had placed Martina in the passenger seat so Sam crawled into the backseat with Gabriel. To be honest, this suited him. He wasn't sure he could have brought himself to let go of the archangel right now.

"Where are we headed?" he asked Dean.

"Martina needs checked out, so we're dropping her off at the ER," Dean told him. "What's going on with Gabriel?"

"The blade that Astrid stabbed him with," Sam said shortly. "It's poisoned his Grace."

"Fuck," Dean swore. "Is it permanent?"

"I don't know," Sam said helplessly. "Gabriel didn't seem to think so, but who knows." Dean shoved the Impala rather roughly into drive and screeched out of the lot.

"Did you pick it up," Gabriel rasped against the skin of Sam's neck.

"I've got it," Dean said from the driver's seat. "I assume 'it' is Astrid's knife?"

"Dangerous," Gabriel muttered. "Best not to leave it lying around."

* * *

The ER was busy and Dean was unsure about leaving Martina here alone.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "You guys have done more than enough. Go save your friend."

"I'm not sure I'd call him a friend…" Dean said uncertainly. Martina kissed his cheek and then made a shooing motion with her hands.

"Right. Go. Go on!"

When he climbed back into the Impala, Sam was stretched out along the backseat, Gabriel cradled in his lap. Dean suppressed the urge to snap a photo with his phone. As amusing as it would be to taunt Sam with it later, Gabriel's existence was only known to a very limited few and Dean figured it might be safer to leave it that way for now. Inconvenient photos had a bad habit of turning up on the internet when you least expect it once you shared them and if he couldn't share the photo, what was the point of taking it? He gunned the engine and pointed the car in the direction of Kansas. Lacking other options, they were going to take Gabriel home.

By the time Dean pulled the Impala into the Bunker's garage, Gabriel seemed much improved. He hadn't moved from his position on Sam's lap, but he was laughing and joking and making snarky comments at Dean's expense.

"Do you think you can climb out of the car on your own, or do you need help?" he threw over his shoulder as he turned off the engine.

"I might need a little assistance," the archangel admitted. Dean grunted and got out of the car, opened the back door and offered his hand to Gabriel. The archangel eyed it for a moment, then grasped it firmly and let Dean haul him out of the Impala. A large amount of blood covered his jeans, but it was mostly dry. Sam scooted forward and shoved the leg of Gabriel's jeans up to inspect the injury.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" Gabriel yelped, although he didn't move away.

"I'm examining your stab wound," Sam said tightly. "Don't be so melodramatic."

"How does it look?"

"It's still open, which is bad. And it's kinda blackened at the edges. But the weird black vein things are gone." Gabriel tugged his pants out of Sam's hands and turned around.

"I'll live then," he announced. "A few hours rest and I should be back to normal."

"OK," Dean said. "Well, I gotta take a shower. Catch you crazy kids later." And with that he loped out of the garage as quickly as he could. Sam gave his retreating back a puzzled look before returning his attention to Gabriel.

"Uh, I guess you need somewhere to crash." Sam looked at his watch, it was just after 3pm. "You can use my room, if you want."

"Can I use your shower first?" Gabriel said, a little plaintively. Sam peered at him. The archangel's skin was pale and he was sweating.

"Sure. Are you sure you're OK?" Gabriel swayed slightly.

"Yeah. Just tired. Fighting back against the effects of that blade kinda took it out of me. So, no mojo for cleaning myself up or anything right now." Sam placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and guided him to the door.

* * *

Dean opened the fridge and inspected the contents of a pizza box. How long had this been here? He pulled a face and threw it in the trash. There wasn't much else to eat.

"Hungry?" Sam's voice said from the door.

Dean closed the fridge with a sigh. "Yeah. I'm gonna have to go out. Is Gabriel staying for dinner?" Sam gave a shrug that was clearly meant to be casual, but Dean knew his little brother too well to be fooled. "Where is he?"

"In my room. Asleep." Sam checked his watch. "I'll go check on him and see if he wants food." Dean nodded and watched Sam leave, his shoulders hunched. Damn Gabriel. Damn him to Hell.

 _Dean?_

Dean yelped and banged his hip painfully against the counter.

 _Cas?_

 _Yes. It's me. I don't have much time. Amara is torturing Lucifer and it's distracting him enough that he can't block me from talking to you. But I can't afford for her to find out we can communicate._

 _Where are you?_

 _I don't know. Some kind of warehouse or abandoned workshop. I can see a few tools, old and rusted and what looks like train wheels._

 _Is what she's doing hurting you?_

 _Not exactly, although it is… uncomfortable. Lucifer's shielding me from most of it._

 _What?_

 _He_ is _my brother, Dean. And if he didn't, what Amara's doing would kill me. Being without a vessel would be very dangerous for him. Amara could consume him, just as she does souls._

 _Can't she do that anyway, just pull him out of you?_

 _I don't think so. I think she'd have done that already if she could._ Damn it. Amara had lied to him.

 _We're gonna get you back, Cas. I swear. We've got-_

 _NO! Don't tell me anything. I can't guarantee Amara won't take it from me._

 _All right. Hang tight. The cavalry is coming._

Cas didn't respond but Dean felt the warm touch of the angel's Grace against his mind before it withdrew. He blinked back the tears in his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They had to save Cas. They just had to.

* * *

Sam tapped lightly on the door to his room and suppressed a grin at the theatrical snores he could hear. When Gabriel didn't respond, he knocked louder. There was still no response and so Sam opened the door, and his heart stopped.

Gabriel was lying stretched out on the bed, completely naked. The sheet had been artfully placed across his lap, but it left little to the imagination. Sam's mouth was dry. Fuck. Gabriel's eyes opened sleepily and Sam's gulped. His hair was mussed and the left side of his face was creased where it had pressed against the pillow. He looked adorable. No. NO. Just… no.

"Heya Sammy," Gabriel yawned. "Come to join me?" He gave a lazy smile and Sam stepped backwards almost unconsciously. Gabriel's face fell. "No? OK."

"Gabriel, I… You can't… I can't do this." Sam said, taking another backwards step.

"Relax," the archangel said easily. "I'm just messing with you."

"I know," Sam said. "That's the point."

Gabriel looked confused for a moment and then shrugged. "Whatever, Samchops." He clicked his fingers and was fully dressed again. Sam tried not to sigh with disappointment. Or relief.

"Did you want to stay for dinner?" Sam asked, unsure what he hoped the answer would be. Gabriel bounced off the bed.

"Nah. I'm outta here. Keep that cauldron and that knife in a safe place and I'll be in touch when I have a lead on the sword." Another click and he was gone. Sam swallowed his dismay and headed back to the kitchen. So much for Gabriel's promise that they would talk.

* * *

Dean was sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of bourbon and reddened eyes. Sam blinked in surprise.

"Dean? Are you OK?"

"I just spoke to Cas," Dean blurted out. "Fuck, Sam. This is not good. Amara's torturing Lucifer, and whereas I couldn't care less what happens to that son-of-a-bitch, right now he's the only thing between Cas and Amara."

"Did Cas have any idea where they were?"

"An empty warehouse or workshop of some kind. He said he could see some old tools and some train wheels." Dean told him. "It's not much to go on."

"Train wheels is a bit of a clue," Sam said thoughtfully. "I mean, how many old abandoned train workshops can there be."

"I don't know," Dean retorted. "A lot? I mean, they could be literally anywhere in the world. Europe's full of trains, isn't it?"

"True," Sam agreed. "But I'm willing to bet they're still in North America." Dean gave him a curious glance.

"Why?" Sam leaned back against the counter.

"I don't know. It's just… most of what she's done has been in the US, right? Except for that one thing in Canada, that I'm still not sure was her."

"Canada?" Dean asked. Sam frowned at him and then his face cleared.

"Didn't I tell you about that? I think I forgot because it was just before I went to Hell to talk to Lucifer." Dean rolled his eyes. "OK, well, there was a massacre in a small town not far from the US-Canadian border in Manitoba called Crystal City. Some guy got wasted and shot seventeen people before turning the gun on himself."

"So why did you decide it wasn't Amara?" Dean asked. Sam's mouth twisted.

"It didn't quite fit the pattern of what she'd done elsewhere. I think he was just a crazy person."

"So, your theory is that Amara is staying within the US. Doesn't that strike you as strange?" Dean said. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "You think it's because of me?"

"Yeah, I do. I don't think she wants to be too far away from you. Why else would she stay here when she could go anywhere on earth. There are many holy sites all over the world where she could try and attract God's attention."

"Maybe," Dean said dubiously. "Or maybe she's got a bead on God and he's right here." Sam looked skeptical.

"If God was here, wouldn't he do something? I mean I know he hasn't intervened all that much in the last few years but this is different."

"Is it?" Dean growled. "How is it different from say, the Apocalypse? Nah, I told you already. We're on our own. God already left the building."

"We'll get Cas back," Sam promised. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

* * *

Dean was slouched over his laptop, dark circles under his eyes.

"Dude, you even move since last night?" Sam asked him, covering his concern with gruffness.

"Sleeping is the new smoking," Dean said tiredly.

"What? No, it's not," Sam retorted. "It's sitting. Sitting is the new smoking."

"That can't be right," Dean said after a moment's thought.

"Dean, we'll find Cas, okay? He's stronger that he looks," Sam told him. His brother looked even more despondent.

"You know, we gambled with Cas, and now Amara has him," Dean said, the pain in his voice making Sam's throat ache.

"For a reason, which means he's still alive," he managed. He had to keep Dean's spirits up. They weren't beaten yet!

Dean shook his head. "I've been with Amara. Her beef is with the big guys … with God, with Lucifer. The small fries, even an angel like Cas, doesn't even register." He held his head in his hands. "And if it meant hurting Lucifer, killing Cas would mean nothing to her."

"It's been a week," Sam replied. "We've still got no leads, other than the details Cas was able to give you about where he was being held. And they were just too general. The list of possible locations is just too long."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean barked, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet.

"So … so we get back out there. We get back to work. We keep moving. We keep working. We'll catch a break on Cas. We have to. It's … it's karma," Sam offered. Dean looked away, down at a book on the table.

"You know, karma's been kicking us in the teeth lately," he said softly.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He picked up his laptop and opened it. "So … let's kick it back. Here, check this out. Dean closed the book and walked around the table closer to Sam.

"Libby Strauss. Uh, went missing near Gunnison, Colorado. Now Libby's friend claimed she was carried off by a mutant creature with green eyes."

"Demon?" Dean asked, dropping into a chair.

"That's what I thought, but it gets better," Sam said, pleased Dean's interest had been caught. "The friend chased after them and she found Libby, only it wasn't Libby anymore because now she, too, is a green-eyed mutant."

"Demon swap suits?" Dean said thoughtfully. Sam gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

"Couldn't do it, huh?" Sam asked, eyeing his brother. Dean shook his head.

"No, didn't feel right," his brother said. There was a wistful tone to his voice that made Sam's eyes prick.

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he agreed. "Two hunters who make it to the finish line?"

"Yeah, you leave that alone," Dean declared. He cranked the Impala's engine and pulled away. After a few minutes of silence, he cast a look at Sam. He did this twice more before Sam's control snapped.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean said, obviously lying.

"Don't nothing me," Sam said. "You keep looking at me."

"I'm not."

"Dude, seriously, what is it?" Sam pressed. Dean sighed and shifted the position of his hands on the wheel.

"Are we going to get out, Sam?" he asked. Sam gave him a curious look.

"You did get out," he pointed out. "And you hated it, dived right back in the first chance you could."

"Only 'cause you came back," Dean said defensively.

"Oh no," Sam replied vehemently. "Don't put that on me. You were itching to go hunt something. I was just an excuse, one Lisa couldn't fight back against." Dean gave a warning growl. "No, dammit Dean, I mean it. You were restless, chafing against the constraints of normal life. You're not built for it. Neither am I, I guess."

"You were, once. Until I screwed it all up for both of us." Dean said softly.

"I don't think so," Sam shot back. "Azazel was watching me, at Stanford, remember. Placed demons _in my friends!_ And I was Lucifer's true vessel. So I was never getting out."

"Maybe if I hadn't dragged you back into the life, Lucifer would still be in the Cage." Dean suggested. But Sam was adamant.

"No. Remember what Azazel told me. He killed Jess to push me back into the life. Whether or not I'd gone with you to hunt for Dad, he still would have killed her and I still would have had no way to stop him. I've had a long time to think about this, and I just don't see how I was ever going to get free. So either I wail and moan and rend my hair over it, or I get the fuck over myself and do the job." He paused, watching Dean's reaction to his little speech. "We have to fix this thing with Amara. We broke it, we fix it. But if you really want out after that, then maybe we can figure something out. You and Cas could open a tea shop." Dean flicked a glance at him.

"Funny," he snarled.

Sam grinned at him. "Yeah, I am. You should appreciate it more."

"What about you?" Dean asked. Sam thought about it.

"What about me? You mean, do I want out? Yeah, maybe. I dunno. I… I need someone to share it with, I think. Normality. Or whatever passes for normality in our world." He stared out of the window, suddenly feeling rather sorry for himself.

"I'm not going back to Lisa," Dean said suddenly. Sam peered at him.

"Nobody said you were," he said cautiously.

"Well, you said you wanted someone to share normality with. Well, maybe I do too. But I can't go back to Lisa. That's done."

"I… assumed you and Cas would-" Dean glared at him and Sam retreated.

"Cas isn't going to hang around with me, with us, if we're no longer hunters. He'll go back to Heaven."

"Will he?" Sam wondered. "I'm not so sure." Dean reached out and turned the dial of the radio viciously, and Sam was blasted with Journey at full volume.

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed and the conversation was over.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Sam was sitting in the kitchen enjoying a quiet morning coffee and idly scanning the internet for any leads on a case when his phone buzzed. He stared at the cryptic text message on the screen and sighed.

 _Stones fucked xxx_

What the Hell did that mean? He tapped out a response and sent it.

 _Gabriel? What are u talking about?_

A hand landed on his arm and he jumped. Gabriel looked solemnly at him.

"I just took a little trip to Ireland, to visit the Stone of Destiny. I got a bad feeling about it and wanted to check it hadn't been stolen." Gabriel's mouth turned down as he flopped into the chair across the table from Sam. "If only that was all it was. It's broken."

"Broken?" Sam asked, bemused. "How? Isn't this thing meant to be super powerful?"

"Yes," Gabriel said tightly. "And it seems it's been broken for a few years, according to the locals. But I swear, it was fine when we spoke in the supermarket a few weeks ago. This is something else that's changed."

"And you don't think it's a side effect, do you?" Sam asked.

Gabriel seemed pleased with Sam's deduction. He gave him a broad smile that made Sam's skin tingle. "No, Sam, I don't. I think this was a deliberate act."

"I don't get it," Sam admitted. "Amara's got Lucifer. If Lucifer did this, does that mean he's on her side now?"

Gabriel shook his head in thought. "I don't think this was my brother. Luci's many things, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't destroy something so powerful, he'd steal it. And honestly, I can't see him going over to the Darkness. Not really. He hates our Father. But he still loves him too."

"You did say you thought this might be someone else," Sam remembered. "Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know," Gabriel replied. When Sam looked skeptical, he leaned forward urgently. "I swear, Sam, if I had even the slightest clue I'd share it." Gabriel's face was close and Sam tried not to be distracted by the archangel's mouth. He leaned back to give himself space.

"OK. So, we're at square one. Let's work this like a case," Sam suggested, pulling his laptop over. Gabriel looked delighted at the prospect. He got up and settled in the chair next to Sam, his shoulder pressed against the hunter's as he focused on the screen. Sam tried not to squirm uncomfortably as his body reacted to the archangel's proximity.

"OK," he said and coughed. "Let's start with the Stone of Destiny." He typed a few search terms into Google and scanned the results.

"Well, isn't this cozy," Dean's voice said and Sam looked up. Dean was wrapped in his favorite robe, looking sleepy and a little hungover.

"There's coffee in the pot," Sam said neutrally. It was too early for a fight. Dean slouched over to the cabinet to grab a mug and Sam turned his attention back to his computer.

The first few results were news reports from 2012, detailing how somebody had taken a hammer to the stone and cracked it in several places. Another news report from 2014 described how paint had then been poured over the Stone. Sam clicked on the link and stared at the photographs, one of the Stone before the vandalism and the second after the paint attack. Supposedly the paint had been red and green, but to Sam it looked more like red and black, like old blood. He shivered as a chill went through him and Gabriel looked up with a strange look on his face.

"You OK, Sammy?" he asked gently. Sam's throat hurt at the sound. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Dean wandered over and sat opposite Sam. He eyed Gabriel for a second with a pinched expression. "What's going on?"

"The Stone of Destiny is broken," Sam said without preamble. "We think whoever did it wanted to stop us using the Treasures to defeat Amara."

"Did she do it then?" Dean asked. Sam looked back at Gabriel with a questioning air. Gabriel shook his head.

"I doubt it," he said. "Subtlety isn't exactly her strong suit. Did Sam explain to you about the time manipulations I've detected?" Dean nodded and gestured for Gabriel to continue. "Well, when I suggested we track the Treasures down, I swear the Stone was undamaged. But now, it's irreparably broken."

"So?" Dean said impatiently. "Breaking something sounds like Amara to me."

"Sure. If she'd done it now. But going back to 2012, just to smash the Stone? Why? What's the advantage of doing it four years ago?" Sam challenged and Dean rocked back in his chair.

"What?" he blurted out. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Not if it's the Darkness, no," Gabriel agreed. "Which is why I think it's someone else."

"Who else would have that kind of power," Dean asked, his voice sounding strangled. Sam cast him a curious look.

"Well, angels can time travel of course," Gabriel noted. "At least, they could. I get the impression that ability has been hampered by the Fall that followed the closing of the Gates of Heaven. But archangels can still do it."

"But there's only you and Lucifer," Sam observed. "And presumably you didn't do it. We already talked about Lucifer but he's Amara's captive right now."

"Doesn't mean he wouldn't swap sides," Dean said sullenly.

Gabriel shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Even if he was willing to join the Darkness, which I doubt, changing history is hard. Even for an archangel."

"OK, so what else can do it?" Dean shot back.

"Well, God obviously," Gabriel mused. "And the Darkness could do it, although I don't think she would. Not like this. Soul Eaters have some power over time, but not on this scale. Chronos of course, but he's dead. There's a couple of demons, Seere and Uvall, but Lucifer chained them up in Hell. Even my brother could see the potential damage they could cause. And Gremlins could control time, but only in a limited way and anyway they're extinct."

"Who's Chronos?" Dean asked.

"Greek God of Time," Sam told him. He turned back to Gabriel. "You're sure he's dead."

Gabriel twitched and looked uncomfortable. "Yes." Sam peered at him. "I'm certain, Sam. I killed him myself." It was clear the archangel did not want to talk about this.

"All right," Sam relented. "Then the two demons are probably our strongest contenders. Hell's been in turmoil for a while. Crowley's had a lot of trouble keeping a lid on things. And that's before Amara's release rocked Hell and cracked the Cage. Maybe that wasn't the only damage."

Dean slapped a hand down on the table and Sam jumped in surprise.

"That makes sense," he said. "Crowley's been well off his game. He's had to put down more than one revolution since he became King of Hell, but after Lucifer got free, who knows how much worse it got?"

Gabriel looked curiously at Dean. "You seem awfully… well informed."

"Crowley's a… " Sam started and then paused. "Uh, occasional ally?"

"Frenemy," Dean said. Sam's eyebrows rose at that. Gabriel's eyes widened suddenly and he blew out a breath.

"Well," he said, sounding uncomfortable. Sam turned his astonishment on the archangel. Nothing made Gabriel uncomfortable. The idea was bizarre. He felt that Dean's choice of word was a little strong, but then he hadn't gone on a weird road trip with the King of Hell while temporarily living as a demon. Sam turned his gaze back on his brother as the implications of that suddenly sank in. He'd spent very little time thinking about that period, for obvious reasons. He wondered if he should have questioned Dean more closely about exactly what he had been up to with the demon. Dean glared at him and Sam decided it was a topic for another day.

"So," Gabriel interjected. "We have suspects. I'll see if I can pick up any signs that Seere or Uvall have escaped. You focus on finding another way to defeat Amara."

"I might have something," Sam admitted. "Cas was researching it before-" he broke off at the look on Dean's face. "A tablet. He said there might be a Darkness tablet. And, he was following the trail of a Knight Templar, traveling through Europe just after the destruction of the order. He thought the Knight might have had the tablet and left it with this priest in France."

"That was six hundred years ago," Gabriel reminded him. "That trail's more than a little cold."

"Yeah, but it's all we've got." Sam said.

"No, it isn't," Dean said suddenly. "We know where Metatron is, and the little worm is mortal now. Let's go break a few pieces off him and see what he remembers." Sam gave him a disapproving face that he waved away.

"Well, this has been fun," Gabriel announced. "But I've got to go track down some demons." He carded a hand through Sam's hair with a wistful look on his face, and then disappeared.

Dean levelled a look at Sam, who snarled back.

"I don't know what he's doing," he said defensively. "He keeps doing stuff like this. Blowing hot and cold. It's making me crazy."

"I warned him," Dean said sourly. "I told him to stop messing you around, or I'd end him."

"Don't," Sam pleaded. "I know you're only trying to help, but I couldn't bear it if you killed him."

"I know," Dean growled. "It's the only thing stopping me, believe me."

* * *

Sam looked around the grotty apartment, his nose wrinkling at the smell.

"So you're the supervisor for this building," he said to the man who was picking through an ashtray and pulling apart the butts to scavenge tobacco.

"Yep," he said shortly. "Name's Sal."

"OK, Sal," Dean said, settling into an intimidating stance. Sal seemed unmoved. "We're looking for a guy named Marv. Last time we saw him, he was renting an apartment on the fourth floor."

"Marv?" Sal shrugged. "Doesn't sound familiar. But people come and go a lot here. It's hard to keep track."

"Maybe your memory needs a little refreshment," Sam suggested, pulling his wallet from his jeans. The man's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, could be," he agreed. Sam fished out a twenty and offered it to Sal. "Yeah, I remember now. Smallish guy, ratty looking. Horrible beard, worse breath. Yeah, he lived here for a while. But then he fell behind on his rent and you know, I'm a good guy but I'm a businessman, not a charity. When he got to three months arrears, I had to kick him out."

"Is the apartment still empty?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No," Sal said, shaking his head. "I rented it out again almost immediately. Lot of demand around here."

"Did he leave a forwarding address?"

"Nah. But I don't think he found another apartment. He was dead broke. Last I saw him, he was rooting in the dumpsters behind the Denny's two blocks from here." Sal started to roll the scavenged tobacco into a handmade cigarette. "He might be sleeping rough near there. A few homeless hang out in that area."

"Thanks," Dean said shortly and headed for the door. "If he does show up, give us a call." He tossed a card onto the coffee table.

"Yeah, sure," Sal said sourly.

* * *

The alley behind the diner showed clear evidence of use by at least one homeless person. Whether it was Metatron or someone else, there was no way to tell. Cardboard boxes piled in one corner revealed a small stack of books, a torn sleeping bag and some old newspapers.

"Books," Dean said with a gesture.

Sam grimaced. "Maybe. But unless they say 'Property of Metatron' inside, they could be anybody's."

Dean scratched at his stubble as he looked around. "You know, homeless people don't normally leave their stuff lying around. Too much danger of it getting stolen."

"You think Metatron's not streetwise enough to know that? OK. But what does it tell us about where he is?"

"Nothing," Dean agreed. "But, maybe we should stake this alley out. See if he turns up."

"OK," Sam said. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out.

 _Bunker. ASAP. xxx_

"It's Gabriel," he told Dean. "He wants to meet back at the Bunker. Urgently."

"Fine," Dean said irritably. "Let's go."

* * *

Sam had hoped Gabriel would be waiting for them when they got back to Lebanon. But the Bunker was empty.

"Well?" Dean demanded. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," Sam said, stress cracking his voice. "He said ASAP. I thought it meant he'd be here when we got back."

"I don't see any sign he's been here," Dean said, looking around. Sam nodded unhappily in agreement and pulled out his phone.

 _Where R U?_

"I guess we wait," Dean said. "I've got stuff to do. Give me a shout if Gabriel shows up." He headed off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Sam to stare mournfully down at his phone.

Dean would no more admit it than he would cut off his own arm, but he quite liked ironing. The quiet domesticity of it brought him an odd sort of peace. Lisa had been amused and delighted when he'd taken over that chore, and astonished at how good he was at it. He didn't tell her about his memories of his mother, ironing in front of soap operas on TV with a slight smile on her face.

He took a mouthful of his beer and then looked down at the shirt he was working on. He sprinkled a little of the beer on the shirt and then took another sip. Sam walked into the room, his tablet in hand.

"Oh, perfect," Sam said, concealing a smile. "We're gonna need our suits."

"Still no sign of Gabriel?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head. "Tell me you got something on Amara at least."

"Uh, it's a long shot, but the clock's ticking, right? Whatever Amara's doing to Lucifer…"

Dean frowned. "Yeah. Beating on Cas in the meantime." His voice broke alarmingly and Sam thrust his tablet into his brother's hands.

"Yeah. Uh, Hope Springs, Idaho. A guy named Wes Cooper killed himself after killing a co-worker. According to the reports, though, nobody knows why. Apparently he was a perfectly happy guy, and then... snap."

"So, what? Possession?" Dean asked.

"Or he was soulless," Sam said triumphantly.

Dean pulled a face. "It ain't much, but given what we got, I'll take it." He gave the tablet back to Sam.

"Yeah."

Dean handed him his shirt. "There you go," he said and walked away.

"Thanks." Sam's nose wrinkled at a faint odor that wafted from the still warm cotton. He sniffed at it tentatively. "Dude, quit ironing my shirts with beer!"

* * *

"We're still a few members short of the original lineup," Chuck said wearily.

"Yeah," Lucifer interjected. "First time, it took the combined strength of me and my brothers to weaken Amara before…"

"Daddy-o finished her off." Dean said.

"Yeah, even then, it was close."

"No, with just the two of us, we'll lose," Chuck agreed.

"Okay, so, what, we'll need more group therapy between you and the archangels if we want to have a shot?"

"Well, Michael's in no condition to fight," Chuck said sadly. "And it's outside of my power to bring Gabriel and Raphael back." Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

"Gabriel's not dead," he said. Chuck gaped at him.

"Yes, he is," he insisted.

"I killed him myself," Lucifer said airily. "I think I'd know."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Dean said. "But Gabriel's alive. We've seen him."

"After you uh, fought him, he got bounced into Purgatory," Sam added. Lucifer and Chuck stared at the Winchesters, then exchanged a glance.

"It's impossible," Lucifer insisted.

Chuck shook his head. "It's strange, certainly," he admitted. "But Gabriel has been able to hide from me before."

"OK, fine," Lucifer sulked. "So where is he?"

"We don't know," Sam confessed, a pain stabbing through his chest and making it hard to breathe. "He texted a few days ago, saying he'd meet us at the Bunker. And then nothing."

"Well, if he's AWOL, he's not worth considering," Lucifer said dismissively.

"Well, anyway, why can't you resurrect Raphael? I mean, he was a huge dick. But if we need firepower. And you restored Castiel," Dean objected.

"Archangels are different. They're the stuff of primordial creation," Check explained. "Rebuilding them, it's - it's time we don't have." Lucifer cast a strange look at Chuck, Sam noticed, but said nothing.

"All right. So what do you need to win?" Dean challenged. "What do we bring to the table to make up for archangel power?"

"We could try and find more Hands of God." Sam suggested.

"A little redundant," Lucifer said snidely.

"Well, what about Crowley? Big demon power, former king of Hell. He was a player in his day." Dean suggested.

"We have the angels too," Sam added.

"And Rowena. I mean, she's a snake, but she's a powerful witch. And she's got the Book of the Damned."

It was desperate, Sam thought. But these were desperate times.

* * *

"Goodbye, nephew," Amara said coldly. Lucifer jerked and cried out, then slumped back against the wall.

"Cas!" Dean cried.

"I'd die a million times and murder you a million more before going back there! Tell me... if you won't change, why should I?" Amara continued, her eyes focused now on her brother.

"Amara, no!" Dean yelled. But he was powerless to stop Amara hitting Chuck with all of her power. He could feel it, slithering over his nerve endings and burning out his senses. He grunted in pain.

"Sorry, brother," Amara said, not sound sorry at all as Chuck's body thumped back down on the ground.

"No. Amara, what have you done? He's dead. God's dead," Dean whispered.

"No," Amara said callously. "He's dying."

Dean could hear Chuck gasping faintly.

"My brother will dim... and fade away into nothing. But not until he sees what comes next. Not until he watches this world, everything he created, everything he loves turn to ash." And then she was gone.

Sam struggled to his feet and lurched over to Chuck, who was lying on the floor and twitching. Dean was staring almost blindly at him.

"Check on him," Dean ordered, waving a hand towards Chuck, and then he staggered over to the unconscious body of Lucifer. He approached warily, not wanting to get too close. But he was still. Dean poked at him carefully, and then shook the body more vigorously when he didn't respond.

"Lucifer?" he said urgently. "Come on, you son of a bitch." There was no response. "Cas? Are you in there?" _Cas!_

"Dean!" Sam called out and Dean turned, tears burning the back of his eyes. He looked back at Cas's body and then shuffled back over to Sam and Chuck.

"Dean," Chuck said weakly. "I'm sorry. Castiel is gone. Lucifer too."

"Gone?" Dean said dazedly. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. Amara pulled them both out of Castiel's vessel. She probably consumed them." Dean's head was spinning.

"Dean?" Sam said, but his voice sounded far away. There was a strange sensation, like he was falling, and then pain as his cheek struck the floor. He was lying on the floor. His head felt gray and fuzzy. He could hear someone calling his name, but it seemed faint and unimportant. Cas was gone. It was over, and they'd lost.

 _Dean._

Amara had said Chuck would have to watch everything he loved turn to ash. Dean thought his world had already turned to ash. Cas was dead, and Sam would soon follow once the Darkness consumed the world.

 _Dean!_

There was no more hope left. All their fighting, everything they'd sacrificed and it was ultimately for nothing.

 _DEAN!_

 _Leave me alone,_ he thought. _Let me die, here and now._

 _We can fix this, Dean._ That voice was familiar. Like bones scraped on stone. Tenebrae? _We can go back. Change the past, stop any of this from happening._

A small sliver of hope began to worm its way into his heart. _Are you sure this will work?_

 _Yes, yes._ Tenebrae sounded impatient. _But we don't have much time._

 _OK,_ Dean said. _I've got nothing left to lose. You win. Let's do this._

 _Excellent_. Tenebrae said, sounding satisfied. There was a flash of white light.

 _So we're going back to before Metatron closed the Gates of Heaven, right?_ Dean asked suddenly.

 _Yes._

 _And Sam and I will retain our memories. Cas too if you can swing it._ He wanted to be sure Tenebrae remembered this promise.

 _I can't promise it will work._ Tenebrae's voice was like a chill wind.

 _You said that before. It's OK. Just do your best._ Dean assured it. This had to work. He hoped this entity, whatever it was, could really pull off what he promised.

 _Oh, I will._

And everything went black.


End file.
